Masquerade
by draigonfire
Summary: COMPLETED In one night, two very different lives unexpectedly intertwined with the aid of lust, love, and 50 million galleons. Now, six years later, one truth does remain: nothing can be hidden forever. DG
1. Stroke Of Midnight

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Nada! Zero!  
  
A/N* Yes, it's another D/G! What better ship to write? I won't be updating this fic quite as fast as I did with the other one once September (and school) starts, so bear with me.  
  
Chapter 1. Stroke of Midnight  
  
"Have we a deal?"  
  
It felt so very odd to be sitting in Malfoy's parlor, sipping Malfoy's tea and speaking-yes, civilized conversation-with Malfoy's wife. Pansy didn't see to recognize her however, and the relief that washed over Ginny Weasley upon reailzing this was truly indescripable. Lacing her long fingers through the delicate porcelain of her teacup, she squeezed her eyes shut to ponder.  
  
"It's a large task, Lady Malfoy," Ginny replied finally.  
  
"And I'm paying a large amount of money," Pansy's voice was blunt, direct, and without emotion. Much like her husband, Ginny thought wryly, wrinking her nose at the image of Draco. Remembering her days spent at Hogwarts avoiding the Slytherins only increased the bubble of distaste threatening to implode in her stomach.  
  
"50 million galleons," she whispered.  
  
"Listen," Pansy said matter-of-factly, setting her cup down with practiced ease. She was an elegant woman, one of a cultured and dignified upbringing, one who understood the importance of reputation, of appearance, even if illegitamate. "I know you need the money, Miss-" She paused, cocking her head at Ginny curiously. "Did I not catch your name?"  
  
"I think in cases like ours, it would be better that you didn't," Ginny said as courteously as possible.  
  
The blonde frowned, and for a moment Ginny was afraid that she had displeased her last and most desparate source of money, but then the lines in her well-done face relaxed into a smile that had never appeared during her younger years. "I do understand why you would feel that way," Pansy said congenially. "I presume then you haven't done something like this before?"  
  
"Of course not," Ginny replied, attempting to force the indignation out of her voice but failing with a vengeance.  
  
"Mm," Pansy remarked, "Well, as I've learned, not many people are willing to do things like these in this day and age, you know."  
  
"Not many people request things like these in this day and age," Ginny retorted a bit acidly.  
  
"You're right," Pansy agreed, catching Ginny by surprise. "So as I was saying before, I believe the two of us cuold really benefit each other. I need the favor, you need the money, and I can supply you with the money."  
  
"The money is for my father," Ginny said stiffly.  
  
"The point is," Pansy went on, "We both get what we want, so we might as well just sign the contract now. Or is the sum not quite enough for you?"  
  
"It's not that I need more money," Ginny sighed, "It's just a matter of-of morals. Ethics, values, that sort of thing."  
  
The grin that appeared on Pansy's lips rendered her much more like the conniving Slytherin Ginny had known and loathed. "As you can see," she chuckled humorlessly, "Never had much of those myself. Never missed them, either. Sometimes you need to do to make do, lie to make truth, and if you don't tell yourself that your integrity is being compromised, it never really is."  
  
"I think the whores on the streets could say the same," Ginny said.  
  
"My dear, this isn't prostitution, not by a far stretch," Pansy pointed out patiently, regarding her with a mixture of ubiquitous amusement and frustration.  
  
Ginny swallowed. "The concepts are awfully close though, if you ask me."  
  
"Certainly not," Pansy dismissed. "The only person who can form a concept is you. You want to know what your problem is?"  
  
"What," Ginny said warily.  
  
"You don't understand that what this world sees isn't always what you see," Pansy said. "Some things turn out to be only you make them to be, nothing more, nothing less. So you can either look at this as a sacrifice of everything you stand for, or you can look at it as a logical, pragmatic way to achieve your money for whatever reasons you may need it for. Certainly there are other ways out there, but I'm here, and I'm offering you 50 million galleons which is more than an affable number, and you know that or you wouldn't be sitting across from me this moment."  
  
"I have deadlines," Ginny responded.  
  
Pansy snorted, leaning back and tapping her ivory cheek with a perfectly manicured finger. "And as we've discussed earlier, so do I."  
  
Ginny met her eyes, recalling how brainless Pansy had always seemed back at school. Maybe it was marriage, maybe it was that she'd simply matured; either way, Ginny had to hand it to her: the woman was cunning. Heartless and decieving, perhaps, and bloody irritating even after two years, but utterly sly. She knew which buttons to push and she had the principles-or there lack of-to reach out and do exactly that.  
  
"So have we a deal?" Pansy repeated.  
  
"On one condition."  
  
~*~  
  
The house was magnificent.  
  
Ginny glanced down at the slip of paper in her hand, squinting to read the address Pansy had printed in her loopy cursive. It certainly seemed the right house, what with it's raucous music and abundance of lights, but in wealthy neighborhoods like these, she felt more confident being absolutely sure.  
  
Despite the richely made ballgown Pansy had so cordially lent her, Ginny was intimidated by this crowd, with their money and time to spare, throwing gatherings like these. She handed Pansy's invitation to the doorman with more surreptitiousness than intended, holding her breath and praying he'd never met the real Lady Malfoy. He gave a polite nod, and she moved to leave.  
  
"Wait," the doorman called suddenly. "You can't go in there." Ginny froze, and he added, "Well, not like that, anyways."  
  
"Not like what?" Ginny asked, sounding more confused than insulted.  
  
"This is a masked ball," he explained, pointing to the invitation. He fished around in the trunk behind him and retrieved a feathered mask nearly the same shade as her borrowed dress. To her delight, it was large enough to cover all but her eyes and lips, and Ginny realized that she'd failed to cover the element of disguise.  
  
Graciously and wordlessly, she slipped it over her thick red hair, hair that had always been long and curly but was tonight, for a change, smooth as silk. "Thank you," She said in a composed voice.  
  
"Compliments of the house," he smiled.  
  
Her mask securely in place, Ginny was safe to admire the rest of the house, her awestruck gaze trailing over the grand stairs and the countless couples wandering about. She stood awkwardly for a few minutes, unsure of what to do-well, more frankly, who to do. There were many men here tonight, most of them probably willing, who could easily help her fulfill her end of the bargain.  
  
If Ron could have seen her this particular evening, Ginny doubted that even her brother would've been able to recognize her. For one, the corset of her old-fashioned gown pinched like no other. She wasn't overweight or anything like that, but she hadn't worked relentlessly on toning her stomach like Pansy, either, and thus possessed a tad more in the area to be squished flat. Consequently, she also had less to push up through the deep neckline, but not much less and she felt very much naked under the lustful stare of a passing man who was obviously drunk.  
  
And her hair-it was her first time introduced to a professional straightener, and Ginny was really starting to enjoy the light strands of copper red that for once wasn't inches above her head. The miracles of modern beauty, she thought happily, momentarily forgetting the hours she'd had to endure for this achievement to be permanent.  
  
"Beautiful, isn't it?" A voice behind her said. Ginny turned to see a dark- haired wizard, his blue eyes merry behind his mask, offering her a small shot of vodka.  
  
She took it graciously, flashing him what she hoped to be a coquettish smile. "Marvelous," she agreed with a throaty laugh, and downed the entire glass. Looking around at this crowd she'd never run with, Ginny knew the alchohol would come in handy. She eyed the man from under a sheath of dark lashes, and the evening suddenly improved. Not even ten minutes into this party, she congratulated herself, and already I've found a someone tall, dark and handsome.  
  
His eyes widened, no doubt impressed. "You know, I always did like to hear compliments," he chuckled, "It's my house."  
  
Inwardly, she smiled. Even better, he's wealthy as hell, she thought, though taking another observation at the jovial guests she would estimate each one to live just as lavishly, if not more. "Then perhaps I spoke too soon," she replied tartly, winking at him and almost abashed at her own courage.  
  
"Feisty, aren't we?" he said huskily, offering his hand. "I'm Marcus. Marcus Flint. But you knew that already."  
  
Ginny nearly spit out the wine, trying her best not to blanch at his name. She rememebered Marcus Flint all too well, Slytherin captain of the quidditch team back at Hogwarts when she'd been young, and a completely slimeball. He was rather different now, having grown actual teeth-and they weren't brown, either, but she still shuddered at the thought that she'd considered him as a possible candidate. She promised herself then that whichever man she ended up choosing, she'd not ask his name, nor would she look at his true face.  
  
"Um, pleasure to meet you, sir," Ginny choked out.  
  
"You know," Flint said, oblivious to her discomfort, "We haven't done a masquerade ball in a while, but my house, er, excuse me, my mansion, is just perfect for one."  
  
He watched her with smug eyes, waiting for her prompt to ask why. "Do explain," she coughed feebly.  
  
"There are two dance halls in this mansion," he said, pride evident in every note, "The first one is to your left, and in there you rotate partners every fifteen minutes, until you find the right one, of course."  
  
"And the second?" She was curious now.  
  
"I'm getting to that," Flint was a bit irked at her interruption. "Once you find the person you want to dance with, the two of you move to the second hall, where you'll dance until you're allowed to remove the masks."  
  
"When's that?" Ginny blurted out, distinctly aware that she was greatly ignorant to the traditions exhibited by the "upper class."  
  
Flint sent her a look of disbelief. "At the sound of the midnight bell," he replied as if it were common knowledge even to toddlers. "My gods, one would think this was your first masquerade."  
  
"Don't be silly," she mustered with a small titter, trying to feel less like a blithering idiot.  
  
"So," he inched closer, and she held back a disgusted yelp. "Do tell me your name."  
  
One of the waiters passed with a glittering tray of small champagne glasses, and Ginny's arm shot out to snatch one, gulping it down to buy her some time. "Don't think it matters," she finally winked. "What matters is that we shimmy on over to the ballroom and dance up a storm, don't you think?"  
  
He seemed to be appeased with her ostentatious flirting efforts, and offered an arm gentlemanly. "Best idea all night," Flint said cheerfully. With a sigh of relief, Ginny followed suit, sure she would find an appropriate man before the long night was over.  
  
Eight dances and two hours later, however, her exuberant confidence was beginning to wane severely. The first man had been an oaf-bloddy clumsy and crude to the tongue, though rather handsome, at least the part of him she could see. He would've done, as Ginny wasn't exceptionally picky especially considering the task, but the night was young then and what dignity she had left hopeful yet.  
  
The second man wasn't much of an improvement, and what's more he was stout, perhaps in his thrities, and not quite hitting the five foot mark. The third had no respect for personal hygiene, the fourth gave Ginny uneasy suspicions that she was dancing with none other than Vincent Crabbe, and the others so horrid it pained her to recall them. By the time she had disentangled herself from the octupus that was her sixth partner, the first man had long disappeared.  
  
Her feet ached and she trudged wearily to her new partner, almost afraid to be disappointed again. His palm was dry and smooth, making herself- conscious of her own clammy hands. With some resignation, she glanced up at him. Needless to say, when her gaze was met with inquisitive silver eyes, her stomach turned over in pleasant surprise. Physically, she had no complaints about this man; he was well over the six foot mark, slender but still muscled, with hair fine and skin fair, and his feet gracefully agile.  
  
The man spun her around. "You know, I usually don't go to places like these," he said, his breath tickling her ear. "The idea of searching for a partner is rather unclassy."  
  
Something about his voice sounded oddly familiar, and Ginny frowned. Hell, something about this man gave her a strange feeling, a sense of déja vu almost, that had nothing to do with the funny little nerves her heart was pumping to other nameless anatomies. For a second, she was tempted to ask his name, certain they'd met previously. But she shook off the feeling and chalked it up to paranoia, asking, "Then why are you here?"  
  
"Business," he said simply, pulling her close. "And you?"  
  
"I guess you could say business," Ginny replied.  
  
"And is that all?"  
  
She tilted her head in question. "What?"  
  
"You said that like there were multiple reasons for your presence tonight," he explained. "It lead me to think there were other explanations."  
  
Ginny hesitated. "Well, the idea of a masquerade attracts me," she said. "The pretense of disguise."  
  
"May I ask why that is?"  
  
"When you're under disguise," Ginny responded, "You can say what you want, do what you want, be what you want. And in the morning, everything is normal again. You haven't broken any rules, and whatever happened is simply buried in the passing night."  
  
He dipped her now, eyes glittering with amusement and a glint of intrigue. His lips inches from hers, he commented, "I'd have to say that I agree."  
  
She was admittedly disappointed when he didn't kiss her, and she wondered whether he had noticed. It again, reminded her of something from the past, but this time she could place her finger on exactly what it was: Harry. Harry, after they'd separated for several months, sitting in her apartment with unrestrained want only to gently inform her of his marriage to Cho. "Are you married?" Ginny asked suddenly, though in all honesty it didn't mean anything to her, or at least it shouldn't.  
  
There was a slight pause. "Do you think I am?"  
  
Ginny scowled. No doubt this was a party dominated with former Slytherins, all experts at question evasion. "I'd guess you to be in your early twenties-"  
  
"Twenty-one," he confirmed.  
  
"-and you're shockingly handsome," she continued.  
  
He smirked. Damnit, Ginny thought, where have I seen that smirk before? "You flatter me," he said softly.  
  
"Don't try to pretend you don't love the sight of your own reflection," Ginny chuckled. "Or that I'm the first to tell you so."  
  
"I would never try to claim that other women don't find me devastating," He grinned, and she nearly melted then and there. "So what's the verdict?"  
  
"I'd say either womanizing bachelor or childhood betrothal." Ginny stared at him expectantly, and an admiring smile graced his regal lips.  
  
"I despise my wife," he admitted.  
  
A slight twinge of something resembling disappointment resounded inside Ginny, but she pushed it away quickly. "I'm sure you have some fun with the marriage," she scoffed suggestively, taking on an indifferent tone.  
  
"I consider it a job," he replied, stony eyes grim. "And I don't mix business with pleasure."  
  
She took a step closer, her lips by his ear. "Does this mean you won't be having any fun tonight?" Ginny had never done well with sounding coy, but she made an honest effort at it now.  
  
The grim was replaced with surprise. "Well," he murmured seductively, "Just like you, I'm not here completely on business."  
  
Through the mask Ginny could still see structured cheekbones, a defined nose, and she fought the flitting urge to toss of what she was sure hid a striking face. It was the perfect moment, and with a reckless abandon she'd never before displayed, she pressed her lips to his, desparately hoping he would respond, and if he did, that he'd not notice her inexperience.  
  
Like his hands, his lips were dry and soft, and unbelievably pliable. His tongue manipulated its way into her submitting mouth, and ever bone in her body became useless jelly the moment he deepened the kiss. Gods, she scolded herself, you're on the job and you can't fall for him, you can't let this affect you the way it's doing right now. But something else overtook that voice, and whatever reason or morality she still possessed flew out the window.  
  
The kiss was hungry, devouring her with a lust she'd never before thought possible. It was primitive, and basic, composed of man and woman both starved for passion and affection, the kind that diminished all feeling except for the absorption of each other. She moaned into his mouth, and felt his mouth curl into a smile against hers before resuming their snog with a fiery vigor.  
  
When they finally broke apart, hearts racing and gasping for air, there was a tall brunette with a withering stare glowering at both of them. "Time," she said disdainfully. "You have to change partners."  
  
"I'm sorry, love," Ginny giggle, a bit tipsy from his drugging kiss, "But I don't want to change partners."  
  
The brunette rolled her eyes and pointed impatiently towards the open hall. "Then you shouldn't be in here," she sneered.  
  
Ginny snatched the man's arm, whirling through the masses and out into the hall in one fluid movement. "I do hate interruptions," she breathed as he slammed her into the wall and lowered his head to hers, suckling and nipping at her lower lip, alternating between the tenderness he'd exhibted during their dance and the not quite so. He moved his mouth wetly to her neck and then back again, hissing as she intertwined massaging fingers into the fine silver-blond silk that was his hair.  
  
She was short on air now, her breath constricting with every lave of his tongue searching, but she wasn't willing to part from his lips either. If I die of suffocation, she thought distantly, I'll die one of the happiest witches in London. He didn't seem to be as intoxicated, however, because he pulled back and glanced up at the beautiful open hall surrounding them with a small smile.  
  
Ginny was silent. She leaned against him, this man that she didn't even know, had never seen, and felt cold without the pressure of his warm lips, incomplete in some inexplicable way. Maybe he doesn't mix business with pleasure, she thought devilishly, lacking the energy and state of mind to speak as his tongue darted out against her earlobe, but I'm certainly ready to.  
  
"What do you say we move to the other ballroom now," he said, the calmness of his voice and demeanor not only surprising her but giving her once again the feeling she'd encountered him before.  
  
Glancing in the other direction, Ginny spotted a marble stairwell that provided a glimpse of countless guest rooms, bedrooms. "You know what?" She whispered breathlessly before his lips cut her off once more. "I have a better idea."  
  
~*~  
  
The Jonathan Dukakis Guest Room was perhaps one of the largest bedchambers Ginny had ever been in. Bringing her knees against her chest, she watched the shadows dance with glassy eyes, thankful for the heat emanating from the flickering fireplace. She huddled into the satin bedsheets, knowing she'd be much warmer should she be laced back into her gown but not wanting to make that undoubtedly frigid trip from the bed to where her dress was heaped on the ground.  
  
He was asleep now, the mystery man who'd introducted her to a different world, the sheets a tangle around his waist but his mask still firmly in place. She'd requested it actually, not certain she'd be able to stomach it should this charming lover be hideously scarred or worse, someone she could fall in love with, someone so breathtakingly handsome she'd want to gaze at him for all eternity.  
  
She thought then of Pansy, her words echoing mercilessly. Like hell it's not prostitution, Ginny thought vehemently, tearing her eyes from his sculpted chest and the addictive rhythm of his breathing. Of course, she'd chosen the man but didn't prostitutes do the same? And here she was, lying next to someone whose name she didn't even know, who'd claimed her sacred virginity. And that wasn't even the worst part.  
  
The worst part was that Ginny had enjoyed it. She had succumbed to her own inner demons, to the one emotion she had always thought she felt around the men in her life-Harry, Seamus, Dean-until this night, this moment, when it struck her that there was no feeling comparable to what she'd experienced moments earlier. She'd felt it course through her, raw and pulsating.  
  
Desire.  
  
Except she could have dealt with that. She had wanted it, and she knew that. The acceptance that yes, she had started out on a mission but had ended up lusting just as much as he was, if anything, understandable. No, what nipped at her mind and conscience was the one thought that had overtaken her mind and soul during those pivotal moments of intense pleasure that had expanded into infininty, torturing her, bordering on pain enough so all coherent thoughts dissolved as her body melted into the heat that this man could bring. It was then that she realized that it was more than sex.  
  
Love. Was it even possible to love someone she'd never met? Ginny had experienced lust before, as being twenty it wasn't exactly abormal. She could well distinguish between love and lust, or so she'd believed. "If it's meant to be," Hermione had once whispered, "Fate will put you together." A small smile came to her lips as she remembered Hermione's shining brown eyes, revealing to Ginny the starry-eyed dreamer that had never appeared in the classroom. But Ginny, never one to believe in destiny and soul mates, had always expected love to hit deep into relationships, not through acts that should've let her ashamed and dirty. It couldn't be love, she reasoned, stroking her hand across the broad chest of his sleeping form.  
  
True, she didn't know who he was, but she knew he was amazing-a rare breed, really. She knew that when she first suggested the bedroom he'd declined, leading her out instead to the gardens where they spent blissful moments alternatively snogging and whispering. His fingers, his body, everything that she contacted set her into mad bouts of fire she never knew possible, leaving her weak and useless, needing, pleading for more. And above all, she knew that when his lips touched hers, she forgot about everything which had plagued her and her world became him.  
  
And thus, Ginny was strangely relieved to remind herself that he was married; it somehow lessened the guilt of what she'd sought him out for. Knowing she wasn't the only one doing something wrong appeased her. Anyhow, if he hadn't a lady to return home to, she'd have wanted to become that woman, and she was sure that no matter how perfect this man was, he wouldn't forgive her for what she was about to do.  
  
Ginny slid out of the bed, shivering as she was stepped into her dress. Even in the dim light he looked uncomparable, his slick blond hair not a strand out of place, and his complexion still flush and pink from their excursion. And oh, what an excursion it had been. "Who are you?" She whispered, lacing up her bodice and memorizing the contours of his face. But she had promised herself that this night would have no other attachments, and she'd not peek at what he truly looked like.  
  
Then again, the task had been fulfilled. Well, not completely, but Ginny was nearly positive the hard part-the part where she gave up her ethics and her virginity-was over; she could feel it in the gut of her stomach. She had been prepared for this, the relinquishing of what she stood for because it was for her father, after all. Like Pansy had said, sometimes something just had to be done, and she just happened to be the one making the sacrifices.  
  
What she hadn't planned on sacrificing, however, was her heart.  
  
Ginny sighed, fastening the last button on her elaborate costume, and berated herself for her foolishness. She briefly wondered if he'd remember her when he awoke, and a part of her hoped beyond reason that he would. If it was meant to be. . .Hermione's voice echoed mercilessly. "If it was meant to be," Ginny said aloud, "Then if I left this man a souveneir, he would bring it back to me." Her face fell; she hadn't exactly come with an armload of ribbons to leave behind. But then she caught her own reflection.  
  
Her hands flew instinctively to her neck in hesitation, the sparkling stone of her necklace winking back at her. The jewelry, a small sapphire teardrop fastened upon a delicate silver chain, had been a sixteenth birthday present from her brothers; they'd saved money meticulously for it. For five years she'd cherished it, never once taking it off, and a part of her chided the conscience that had dared consider leaving it here with a stranger. There was really nothing else, though, and Ginny had the strongest feeling that he'd appreciate possessing a remnat of their night together.  
  
In one swift movement, she snapped the chain, lying the necklace across the pillow where she'd slept moments earlier. "Don't forget me," she murmured, brushing across his lips one last kiss. His crumpled tuxedo caught her eye, and a sudden idea crossed her mind. If she took a cufflink of his, then together they'd both be missing something materialistic, just like she was now deprived a certain piece of her heart she never knew existed.  
  
Quickly, Ginny knelt down beside his clothes and dug furiously for his shirtsleeve. Every item was rich in texture, every fabric well- tailored, and as her fingers came into contact with cool metal, Ginny could guess his cufflinks were expensive, too. But as the small silver weight rested conspicuously in her hand, it was not the price that made her freeze and stare. That link, that intricate, elaborate serpent was one she'd definitely seen before, there was no denying that. She searched her memory, her brows creased in concentration as she fondled the silver snake now warm under the heat of her hands, and it struck her suddenly exactly where they'd appeared before.  
  
But it couldn't be possible-that man had the power to spot a Weasley towns away, and the hatred to banish them even further, so this man couldn't be. . .oh gods, Ginny thought. The white-blond hair, the now- closed gray eyes and that mind-boggling smirk, those could only belong to one person, she realized, her throat immensely dry. There was only way to be absolutely sure, however, and with an anxious apprehension she strode to his bedside.  
  
Her fingers trembling, Ginny reached for his mask and gingerly pulled it away so not to disturb his slumber. The firelight cast shadows on his face, making his handsome features less distinguishable, but there was no lying about it-it was him. The air was all of a sudden suffocating, and she backed away in horror, one hand wilding groping for a door. It couldn't be true, she thought frantically, it just couldn't.  
  
But it was.  
  
She, Ginny Weasley, had slept with and fallen for none other than the dragon himself.  
  
Draco Malfoy.  
  
~ End of Chapter 1  
  
A/N* There! The first chapter. As you can see, it takes on a bit of a different tone than my previous fic. If Pansy seemed a tad OOC, it's just because this takes place a while after graduation, and she's kinda changed. You'll see a bit more of her personality later, and what invoked that change and stuff, but don't worry this is NOT a Pansy-dominated fic! Now review, please? 


	2. To Live The Lie

Disclaimer: I own nothing.  Except the plot, and Sebastian.

A/N* This is set seven years later, just so you aren't confused.

Chapter 2.  To Live the Lie

          He was home.

          Draco Malfoy eyed the familiar mahogany door with distaste, feeling unsettled he should be at all disappointed.  It had been nearly seven years since he'd set foot into Malfoy Manor, seven years he had to truthfully admit were better spent away from that now horrid place he was forced to call home.

          Naturally, Draco had never particularly understood the 'home sweet home' prhase, not with Lucius playing the role of Daddy Dearest.  His only refuge had been Hogwarts, where he'd gratefully attended until his eighteenth birthday, the day he became a man separate of Lucius, separate of the family he loathed.  Or so he thought.

          In truth, his age was not reason enough for escape.  In truth, it was just the beginning.

          First came the classy supper banquets that provided Draco Malfoy his introduction as an eligible, _wealthy_ bachelor.  They were tedious and pretentious, yes, but necessary for his upbringing, and Draco endured each one with the same apathetic face he'd practitioned during his schooling.  It was, really, his first glimpse into the world of women as during Hogwarts he was forced to date that atrocious Pansy Parkinson, and Merlin knew she was more possessive than a famished man of food.

          Draco was good-looking man, and immodest at that, too.  He was the type of man people stared at upon entrance, the kind mothers warned their swooning daughters about when they weren't sneaking wanton glances themselves.  He had true heartbreaker potential, and if it hadn't been for his sniveling father and pathetic Pansy, he would've deflowered half of Hogwarts.

          So when he was finally rid of both of them, Draco had been ready to take the female population.  He was back, and single with a vengeance.  A few dinner parties to guarantee his spot into Lucius' will, and hecould unleash the monstrosity Pansy had kept confined.  There was one large glitch, however, that prevented his freedom and chained him to Lucius' command.

          Draco was betrothed to Pansy.

          He was told, or rather reminded, of this particular blessed event during his nineteenth birthday celebration.  His first instinct was to bed some random woman—he would not willingly marry Pansy the peroxide bimbo, especially not as a virgin, not after four torturesome years with her, solitude.

          Lucius Malfoy was unfortunately too smart, too crafty, and too sly—he made sure Pansy attended the party, irritating Draco to his wits end with her bubbly cheer until he came dangerously close to hovering on the brink of insanity.  He was never out of her sight the entire night, as she also made certain of for the six grueling months until their wedding.  And for that hell he found her despicable, never ceasing to hide that fact from the general public either.

          Those outside of the Slytherin society gazed upon the betrothment and Draco's response to it with befuddlement.  People whispered with wondrous amazement as to why Draco simply didn't stand up to his father.  He never exactly had the reputation of being meek, after all.  They never understood what it was like being Lucius' son, being the Malfoy heir, and Draco didn't expect them to.

          He considered it, briefly.  Faking his death, disowning his family, anything to escape Pansy's clutches, but once again Lucius was a step ahead.  He made it extensively clear to his angry son that should for any reason this marriage not occur, Draco would be out of an inheritance, out of the house, and out of any reputation.  "It will be entirely impossible for you to seek employment," Lucius had threatened, making positive the vitality of a Malfoy-Parkinson allignment was not lost on Draco.

          There had been a struggle, naturally, but in the end nothing was as Draco expected.  Because though there was an era when Pansy had loved Draco, back when she could hope he'd learn to love her in time, all time had brought was reality, reality that lusting over him would always leave her broken and alone, reality that maybe love wasn't meant to be for somebody like her.  She didn't stop admiring him, knowing well she'd jump at the chance of having him in her bed if only he would agree even though she hated him.  

She'd always imagined him to be a magnificent lover, and it pained her that though to everyone else he was hers, in the most physical and emotional senses he would never be.  But as she'd graduated, the last bit of her childhood girlish fantasies were left behind, and the new woman that emerged no longer went starry-eyed at the idea of spending a lifetime with Draco Malfoy.  This new woman had learned that only the strong survive, that those weak enough for silly things like _love_ where eaten, chewed up, and spit out mercilessly.  It was her who set out to show Draco that if she couldn't have him, then nobody would.

As giggly as Pansy could be, she hadn't been sorted into Slytherin without reason, and her own guile, though at times well concealed, could nearly rival that of Lucius.  Like the elder Malfoy, she valued the importance of reputation and set out protecting her own.  First, she warned those first class skanks to stay out of her fiancé's bed, and being a woman of incredible power and ferocity, she knew well he'd have to search before he found a woman submissive enough to place a good shag over their lives.  He may have been very much a man, but Draco had too much dignity and pride, and she was satisfied knowing he'd rather hang himself than seek a woman lower than him.

This was all accomplished as he struggled uselessly with Lucius, and by the time he'd taken heed of her devious actions, damage control was an impossibility.  Pansy layed out her expectations carefully, brutally, stressing the importance of his fidelity.  "You don't like me," she'd told him.  "That's fine, I don't care.  But let me remind you that if you even so much as consider extramarital relations, what you'll suffer from me will leave you begging for an avada kevadra."

The part of her that would always remain lost to him wished, very subconsciously, that he would be so sexually frustrated he would come to her eventually.  Then again, things never did turn out the way Pansy planned.

They wed in early June, when the weather was fair but bordering on warm, in an exclusive yet widely publicized ceremony.  It was perhaps the worst night of his life, the dreadful honeymoon spent in separate suites with large amounts of drugging alcohol.  At that time, suicide had seemed a perfectly logical road out of his incessant misery.

But then Lucius fell ill.

It's a terrible thing to wish one's father harm—unimaginable to wish him death.  Lucius had never completely been a father, however, and with only a small, shameful amount of guilt did Draco count the days until he could be freed of Pansy.  It not only gave him solace, that thougth of a burdenless life, his ailment was an excuse for Draco to leave Malfoy Manor.

The disease—trychlaeternia—was one even the darkest of magics could not cure, and a severely weakened Lucius was moved to a treatment center in Canada, Draco thus accompanying him.  His condition worsened, and as Lucius bordered on death Draco watched with a mixture of grief and excitement.  The days were dull, spent in the sterlized stench of hospital, haunted ubiquitously by Pansy's abundance of spies.  He tolerated her, stayed loyal to their joke of a marriage, knowing with glee that Lucius was inches from death.

Then suddenly, unexpectedly, Lucius recovered.  Draco didn't panic at first—it was bound to be a fluke.  But his health recuperated steadily, and Draco's world became dark again.  In defeat and despondency, Draco made the momentuous decision to return home early, to Malfoy Manor, to Pansy.

She had been more than delighted, of course, no matter how many times he stressed that she was simply the lesser of the two evils.  Yes, she was embittered by his treatment during all those years but to hide that she longed for him—that was unfeasible to accomplish.  Despite that, though, he'd written her no more than two letters during his stay, one upon arrival and one before departure, both emphasizing his deep resentment of their ridiculous relationship.

But now he was here, facing Malfoy Manor once more.  With a deep breath, Draco pushed through the door.  "I'm home," he announced sullenly, not bothering to feign cheer.

The chattering stopped, and a moment later Pansy appeared before him.  "Draco," she greeted with practiced sweetness.  The years hadn't been as harsh on her as Draco wuold've hoped, but there was certainly a different air around her.  Her plentiful golden hair no longer loose around her neck but was pinned into an immaculate bun that made her seem older and, if anything, more refined.  Any grace she could've exerted, however, was lost on Draco.

"I thought I told you not to apparate on the grounds," he snarled.

"It's been seven years," Pansy said in a small, hurt, voice.  "Can't you just act happy to see me?"

"I don't act anything I'm not," Draco replied darkly.

She crinkled her thin brows, moving to embrace him.  "You don't mean that," she pressed.

He stepped away as if she carried a plague, and Pansy flinched.  "How many times do I have to tell you?" he sneered.  "We don't touch unless its for publicity."

"You know," Pansy said angrily.  "I hoped beyond hope that time would've changed you, softened you—"

"Oh, now you want me to be _soft_," he scoffed.

"—but you're the same ignorant, bastardly, prat you always were, and—"

"I will not have you insult me in my own bloody mansion, you filthy bitch," Draco bellowed seethingly.  There was a moment of silence, as though he had a nasty temper and an avid antipathy for all things Parkinson, Draco had never been flagrantly derisive, nor had he ever lost his calm in a situation with her.

"Maybe you've forgotten that I'm your wife," Pansy said dryly.

"I have at times," he retorted.  "Best dreams I've ever had.  But then I wake up, and you're still here in my house."

"Stop referring to the manor as _your_ house," Pansy huffed.  "It became my house when you married me."

"_I_ didn't marry _you_," Draco corrected acidly.  "_Our fathers_ married_ us_.  And as soon as mine dies, you'll be out on your surgically corrected arse."

Pansy flushed.  "Well, you just wasted seven years in Canada and he's not dying anytime soon," she pointed out smugly.

"Wasted?  I don't think so," he snorted.  "You see, those were seven glorious years during which I never had to see your face.  And while we're on the topic of your face, you better pray you didn't charge that second nose job of yours to my account."

A voice interrupted their interlude from the sitting room before Pansy had the chance to respond.  "Is that you, Draco?"

The nose comment immediately forgotten, Draco narrowed his eyes at his wife when it registered who the speaker was.  "My mother is here?" he hissed.

"What are you, afraid of women?" Pansy smirked.

His icy gray eyes became glowering slits, and she suppressed a shudder, as she'd almost forgotten his powerful presence and the ability he possessed to terrify every single non-Slytherin back at Hogwarts.  "Did you invite her?"

"She's your _mother_, Draco."

"And look who my wife is," he bit.  "Terms don't translate to love, Pansy."

"So I've learned," she sighed.  "Look, just try to be pleasant.  Narcissa isn't exactly someone I want to annoy."

          "Draco?" Narcissa called again.

          He glared darkly at Pansy again.  "Coming, Lady Malfoy," she replied helplessly, avoiding his penetrating gaze as she turned towards the sitting room.

          "Coming, Lady Malfoy," Draco mimicked under his breath, but followed her nevertheless.

          Narcissa set her teacup down when they entered, sweeping over Draco and taking him in.  She was nearing her fifties, but with the exception of a few sparse white strands in her already silvery hair, she looked as always—cold, distant, elegant, and beautiful.  There were barely any wrinkles, as Narcissa Malfoy never had much reason to worry, and in the same respect there were no laugh lines either.  "Draco, darling," she greeted with a think-lipped smile, his thin-lipped smile.

          "Mother," he returned congenially, pecking her rouged cheek with an almost awkward politeness.

          She touched a palm to his face as he drew back, the lack of warmth in her hand causing him to jump.  "Tell me, Draco," she said in a voice he'd never heard on her before, "How's my dear husband?"

          Draco wiggled a bit, not used to any displays of affection on his mother's part.  "He's fine," he said, sounding more clipped and strained than he would've preferred.  "Made a miraculous recovery, as I'm sure you've heard."

          "You must've been overjoyed," Narcissa scanned his eyes carefully, seeing her own, those same silver eys, mirrored in his.  Draco shifted again, now more physically uncomfortable than anything.

          "Of course," Draco grimaced, struggling not to let his sarcasm be evident.  Pansy snicekred, and if he oculd've turned his head he would have silenced her with yet another lethal Malfoy glare.

          Narcissa studied her son wordlessly for a second, an unreadable expression gracing her classic features.  She patted his face lightly, her touch bordering on maternal, and then withdrew the hand. Reaching for her teacup, she flashed a bright, wan smile.  "Lovers' quarrel?"

          He jerked away, glowering loathefully at Pansy.  "She wishes," he sneered

          Pansy shrunk, and Narcissa's eyebrows rose as she observed their interaction silently.  "So do tell me about your father," she said, dabbing at her mouth.

          Draco let out a small puff of air.  "Would you mind not talking about Father today?" He snapped.

           "If you wish.  We could talk about something else, then," she shrugged with a wicked grin.  "Like, perhaps, grandchildren."

          It was a thankful thing Draco hadn't been drinking tea, or droplets would've been flying all around the elegant parlor now.  "Grandchildren?" He croaked.  He had to procreate with this terror of a woman?

          Her eyes lit up then, a fleck of blue appearing in those rigid gray that he'd never seen before, and her gaze concentrated on something behind him.  "Speaking of which," she said softly.

          A small boy, not quite hitting the three feet mark, stood warily in the doorway.  He was just a toddler, but clothed in mature clothing, and Draco felt a wave of nostalgia as he took in the the cleanly pressed black slacks and stiff collared shirt.  "G'Afternoon, Grandmother," He chirped.

          Narcissa beamed proudly.  "Would you believe he's only six?" She gushed, and the funny feeling that aroused within him from hearing his mother sound so loving was nothing compared the eerieness that radiated from this boy.

          The sunlight dancing upon his amber eyes made them seem golden, and he turned ot Draco with wide-eyed curiosity.  "Who are you?" He said in a voice incredibly cultured for someone of his age.

          Draco glanced suspiciously between a tight-lipped Pansy and the blond-haired boy standing before him.  "Who are you?"

          Pansy cleared her throat nervously.  "Draco dear, I would've told you earlier but you never wrote to me." 

"What does he have to do with me?" He wanted to know.

Pansy was losing her cool.  "This is Sebastian."  He frowned, and she added with pleading blue eyes, "Your son."

~*~

          "What are you, out of your fucking mind?  Or is it still stuck up your arse?"

          "Shut it," Pansy hissed, locking the den doors quickly and glaring at her husband.  "He can hear you if you don't keep your voice down, you know."

          "Why the hell do I care?" Draco raised his voice for good measure.  "He's not my son.  He can't be, because maybe you still haven't realized, but for you and I to have a son, we'd have to fuck first.  Which never has and never will happen, not outside of your lucrative fantasies that is."

          As his furious silver eyes bored holes into her, she sank down into one of the fine upholstered chairs and buried her head in her arms.  "I realize, Draco," Pansy said, sounding muffled.

          "So you're not delirious or anything," Draco remarked with a snarl, a little calmer now.  "You know he's not my son."

          She bobbed her head up and down as best she could.  "Yes, Draco, I know."

          He strode over, grabbed a fistful of her bun, and yanked her head back to glare into her eyes.  "Then why would you bloody tell everyone we know that he's _our_ son? Including my mother?" He spat each word out with venomous poison, and she flinched.

          "Think about it, Draco," She cried, wrestling away from his grasp.  "We've been married for what, eight years now.  Don't you think people would've gotten suspicious if we never had a child?"

          Running his fingers through his hair, Draco stepped back and surveyed her for a moment.  "Wait a second," he said, eyes glittering, "He isn't my son."

She rolled her eyes.  "I think we've established that, Draco."  

"Why Pansy," Draco feigned hurt.  "I thought fidelity was important to you."

"What?" She frowned.

There was an elongated pause that Draco undoubtedly enjoyed, a smug smile flickering upon his face as he sauntered to his desk and leaned against it with crossed arms.  "He's not my son," Draco said, "Which means, you slept with another man, not only that, you had a child by him and lied to pass it off as mine.  I think that's good reason for an annulment, don't you?"

          Pansy simply tilted her chin, sea blue eyes narrowing as she matched his leer.  "You wouldn't."

          He smirked.  "Try me, Parkinson.  I've been trying to get rid of you for a decade now, and it looks like I've finally hit the jackpot." 

          She seemed almost amused now, watching him with the same cool indifference he'd perfected.  "No, Draco, you wouldn't," she restated firmly.  "In fact, you're going to play along,  and embrace the child society believes to be the heir of Malfoy Manor."

          "Now I know you like your drink," he arched a brow, "But don't you think you've had a little too much?"

          "Listen to me, Draco Malfoy, oh dearest husband," Pansy snarled, jabbing one pointy finger at his chest and glaring.  "You are going to do what I say, you are in fact going to be taking care of your lovely son while I'm on vacation for the next two months, and you are going to love every minute of it."

          "Really," he chuckled mirthlessly, entertained by her tirade and at the same time just the slightest bit intimidated that she could be so confident he would act as she bidded.  "And just why would I do that?"

          Pansy raised her chin defiantly.  "Remember what your dear father said to you about not sleeping around?"

          "What about it?" He said guardedly.

          She stood up with languid ease, smoothing the hem of her skirt with a knowing smile, the kind Potter had worn after winning a quidditch match.  "I think he would be quite upset to learn that you had an affair, don't you?"

          If just for a moment, Draco felt the blood rush to his head, and he watched his wife with baited breath.  Impossible, he thought, she couldn't know.  "What the fuck are you playing at?" He demanded, praying she was just bluffing.

          "You know what I'm talking about, Draco," She said, her voice decievingly soft.  "I know everything that goes on with my former Slytherins, and you of all people should now how hard trust is to find these days."

          "Look, Pansy, it doesn't matter because what matters is that you—"

"Marcus Flint was more than willing to tell me about finding you naked in one of his guest rooms."  She cut him off, and his face grew ashen.  With an extremely self-content smirk, she added, "A room that reeked heavily of _sex."  He made a growling noise at the back of his throat, and she tossed back her head to laugh.  "My, my, Draco, you really think I didn't know?  Flint's wife said she could hear the screams all the way down the hall as you fucked your little whore into the night.  Or do you not remember?"_

As if it could block out her face, Draco closed his eyes anguishedly.  He remembered, all right.  The recollection of that steamy night was all that kept him sane during his time with Lucius, and when he lay awake in his cold chamber he could picture the woman, her creamy skin and full lips, and the burning touch of her hands.  He'd tried to find her, even, using a locater charm on the necklace she's left beside him, but whoever had crafted the necklace had done so with a counterspell.  He'd even gone so far as too demand the guest list from Flint, finding every woman invited but never the mysterious redhead.

Glancing at Pansy now, Draco knew that night had left him years of trouble to come, but he couldn't quite bring himself to regret it.  That woman, whoever she was, had left an odd impact on him he really wasn't able to explain.  She was different, delicate, and in that moment of passionate coition they'd shared he felt connected to her in more ways than one—he felt as if she was made for him, made for that physical act of love.

Love.  What was it, really?  He found it ridiculous that he could be associating a one-night stand with love when here was his _wife_, the woman he'd dated since fourth year, and the idea of touching her sent fits of revulsion all throughout his stomach.  And after several years, he gave up on finding the mystery woman, not sure he could deal any longer with the disappointed that had flooded him the morning he awoke in Flint's mansion, alone and smelling of her.  

He never forgot her, however.  Though he'd left for the Americas not a week after his encounter, he saw her everywhere he went.  He stared at every redhead, fell silent at every sound which reminded him of her, and there were times when he'd wake in his penthouse bathed in cold sweat, his dreams haunted by her, dreams that seemed unbearably real.  Pansy was staring at him curiously now, and he snapped out of the reverie.

Draco cleared his throat, regaining his composure.  "Okay, Pansy," he drawled.  "I'm not one to deny things so obviously true.  So what do you want from me?"

"I told you," she smiled triumphantly.  "I'm going on vacation, and naturally it would look terrible for you to come along and leave our darling child home—"

He winced.  "Don't call him our child when we're in private, Pansy," he sneered.

"If you say so," she dismissed.  "Anyways, I'm sure you'll have a splendid time with him for the next, oh, three months."

"I thought you said two," he demanded.

Pansy grinned cheekily.  "I lied."  Boy were the tables turned now, she thought in delight.

"So what's his name, anyways?" Draco grumbled.

"Sebastian," she reminded.  "Sebastian Aurelius Malfoy.  I didn't pick the name, though."

"It figures," he retorted.  "It's a rather decent name, one that would suit a Malfoy.  Too bad he isn't one.  But it doesn't matter, because you know I hate kids.  Alive ones, at least.  So how the hell do you expect me to take care of a kid?"

"I don't," Pansy replied smoothly.  "That's why I've taken the liberty of hiring a governess.  You didn't think I took care of Sebastian for six long years, do you?"

"I thought that having a child might've made you halfway woman," Draco smirked.  "But I see that I've thought wrong.  Do tell me, though, who's the idiotic father of our so-called child?"

"Jealous?" 

"Hardly," he snorted.  "Just haven't met anyone both blind and stupid enough to sleep with you.  So who is he?"

She flounced towards the door.  "That's for me to know," Pansy said, relishing in the irked scowl that appeared immediately on his face as she slipped into the hallway.

Draco stared after her.  "And me to find out," he muttered.  "Oh Pansy, mark my words, you'll pay for this."

~ End of Chapter 2

A/N* muahaha!  Ah just to tell you ahead of time this is not and will never be Draco/Pansy. . .there is a reason why I didn't put that up there, because there won't be any triangles with the D/G/P or anything, as you can probably tell from this chapter that he hates her.  Don't worry, Ginny returns in the next chapter.  You can probably guess how and why.  And yes, the deal she made in the previous chapter will be revealed, though some of you probably have realized exactly what it was already.  Meh.  The review button's waiting.  ^_^


	3. Taking Out The Trash

Disclaimer: not mine  
  
A/N* wow.you guys are good. That's all I have to say. Mm and another thing, school starts for me tomorrow so expect slower updates. ::sighs:: must. . .resist. . .temptation. . .of. . .fanfiction. . . I'm failing miserably. Well, onto chapter 3.  
  
Chapter 3. Taking Out the Trash  
  
"I don't like peas."  
  
Draco sighed. "Okay, then, try some of this celery. See, it's green, my favourite color. Go on, try some."  
  
Sebastian scowled, making a face that reminded Draco much of his own. "Gross," he whined. "Why do I have to eat these ve-ge-ta-bles?" He drew out the last word in four long syllables, each one enunciated with disdain.  
  
"They're good for you," Draco said wearily. And they're all the house elves prepared, he added silently.  
  
"I don't care," Sebastian said grumpily.  
  
"Tough," Draco retorted.  
  
"Draco!" Narcissa reprimanded, and he turned to see his mother in the doorway, her eyes softening as they focused on Sebastian. As she hurried to his side, an unexpected twinge of envy struck him, but he pushed it aside, instead watching her remove the dishes. "It's okay, Sebbie, you don't have to eat them."  
  
"Sebbie?" Draco snorted and nearly fell out of his chair. "Mother, do you have any idea how much kids are going to make fun of him at Hogwarts? Of all the lame nicknames to choose, you pick one that rhymes with Snape's."  
  
She threw him a pointed look. "I don't think many people at Hogwarts called your professor 'Sevvie,' Draco," she replied.  
  
His temper flared up. First he was stuck with this brat of a child, and then his mother was being so unlike herself, showing more attention to Sebastian than she'd ever to him. "Well, that one time I walked in on the two of you-"  
  
In one sudden motion she whipped around, thin brows arched in distaste and shock in her eyes. "How dare you," she said, willing the reprimand in her voice to equal the indignant expression. "You have no right to speak to me like that, Draco Malfoy."  
  
"I'm sorry, Mother," he muttered, glancing away. "Look, I didn't mean to get like that, I'm just in a foul mood."  
  
She frowned at him. "I can tell." There was a pause, and then she embraced him stiffly. "Draco, you're my only son and I love you, but I just don't understand you. Aren't you happy to be home?"  
  
"Why would I be happy?" Draco exploded. "My mother would rather that Pansy's son be hers, and my father is nowhere near dying. Tell me what the hell I should be happy about, Mother."  
  
"Mo-ther," Sebastian repeated, a toothy smile creasing his youthful face. He waved his arms jubilantly and glanced at the two surprised adults with expectant brown eyes.  
  
Narcissa sighed. "You know I wouldn't want anyone to replace you," she said quietly. "But I see the way your wife neglects Sebastian, and it hurts me. He is your child, after all, is he not?"  
  
Her voice reached an odd pitch at the end of her question, and Draco could almost swear she knew about Sebastian's paternity. But as her wide silver eyes gazed back steadily, he had no choice but to lie, "Of course, Mother."  
  
"Ah," she said. "I pity the child, having Pansy for a mother."  
  
Draco wasn't sure how to respond. "Well, it isn't like it was my choice to marry Pansy, you know."  
  
She sent him a pained look. "I know, Draco," she replied. "But I couldn't really do anything about your father's choice. He was bent on allying our families, and if your marriage to the bimbo would seal the deal, then so be it."  
  
"You don't love my father," Draco assessed, slumping down into a chair and offering the celery to Sebastian once more.  
  
"That's not true," Narcissa objected, lowering herself so they were nearly eye to eye. "I did once, when we were still innocent Hogwarts students." An amused expression flickered over her face as she reminisced, and she amended with a low chuckle, "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say innocent."  
  
Draco quirked an eyebrow. "Father received the dark mark during fifth year, Mother. You knew he was a Death Eater before he proposed."  
  
"I didn't say that our differences arose because of his support for him, Draco," Narcissa pointed out. "Nobody forced marriage upon the two of us. Lucius and I were two alike, ambitious, ruthless, cunning."  
  
"So you don't love him anymore," Draco surmised.  
  
"No," Narcissa disagreed. "I do. I just don't always agree with what he does." She reached out for Draco's hands. "Son, I know you find Pansy repulsive, and I can't guarantee that you'll grow to love her. But do try, for Sebastian's sake."  
  
"I've never liked kids," Draco scowled.  
  
She rumpled her grandson's hair affectionately. "Oh, but I think you'll like this little devil here," she cooed, inducing a delighted squeal from Sebastian's part.  
  
"I'll eat the celery now," Sebastian piped up with a cherubic grin, and Draco's scowl deepened.  
  
"See?" Narcissa was overjoyed.  
  
"It doesn't matter," Pansy's voice came from under the doorway, "Because he isn't responsible for him so long as we have the governess."  
  
"Wouldn't she be more of a nanny?" Draco said in a bored tone.  
  
"Doesn't matter," Pansy replied toothily, glancing around the kitchen and waiting for a house-elf. "You're paying for her."  
  
"Figures," Draco muttered, tossing his napkin down in defeat. "Aren't you supposed to be somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic?"  
  
"Not until this afternoon, sweetheart," Pansy reminded. "Here, I've taken the liberty of retrieving her file for you. And you better not chase this one away, because you have no idea how fu-" Narcissa cleared her throat "-uh, how bloody hard it was to find someone who would actually work six days a week."  
  
Draco narrowed his eyes. "If you let them stay overnight, then you'd have millions of women looking for a place to live."  
  
"But we don't want such low-class mongers influencing the heir of Malfoy Manor, now do we?" Pansy winked.  
  
It took extreme willpower not to pull those annoying blond curls of hers, and he snatched the manila folder from her hand. "Aren't you even going to greet your son?" Narcissa directed her intense gaze towards Pansy, who flushed.  
  
"Oh, right." Her smile was saccharine as she planted a forced peck on Sebastian's head. "Dear me, I must have been overwhelmed with the thought of my vacation."  
  
"Would you look at this," Draco drawled, interrupting Narcissa's displease with her daughter-in-law. "You hired a Weasley."  
  
"I know that," Pansy said contemptuously. "I've been working with her for four or five years now."  
  
He fixed her a withering glare. "What possessed you to let a Weasley in my house?"  
  
"She's a good caretaker," Pansy answered defensively. "And she was willing to accept the job for less money than the others. And it's not like I hired that mudblood Hermione Weasley. At least Virginia's purebred."  
  
"Well, well," Draco chuckled. "Granger got herself knockered up by Ron. It is Ron, isn't it?"  
  
"They're engaged," Pansy corrected. "And yes, it's him."  
  
"You know," Narcissa spoke up. "I don't like that muggle-loving family anymore than you do, but Sebastian seems quite taken with her."  
  
"With who?" Sebastian said curiously.  
  
Draco ignored him, shucking the stack of papers onto the table without further glance and pushing away loudly. "I don't care," he said firmly. "I refuse to have a Weasley in my house, period. I'll give that weasel a month while I find a replacement, which I highly doubt is has hard as you made it seem."  
  
"You can't fire her," Pansy cried.  
  
The corners of his lips curled into that familiar, malicious sneer. "Watch me."  
  
~*~  
  
Another day, another blind date.  
  
"Ginny, I'd like you to meet Vince Lowens," Hermione's cheeks swelled with blithe. "Vince, this is my soon-to-be sister-in-law and maid of honor, Virginia Weasley."  
  
Ginny had been on a fair amount of these dates in her life, as Hermione never tired of playing matchmaker, and she had really grown to tire of them. This man was presumably one of the less heinous in the bunch, with his neat shock of black hair and eager, lopsided smile. "Nice to meet you," she forced, reaching out to grasp his hand.  
  
"I don't know if you remember him," Hermione added, "But he was a Hufflepuff at Hogwarts."  
  
"Oh?" Ginny said, trying to search her memory. "I don't think I ever saw you around."  
  
"I graduated when Hermione here was a sixth year," He explained.  
  
"He was my lab partner that year I moved into some advanced classes," Hermione said fondly. "Imagine my surprise when I saw him in Hogsmeade."  
  
"Yes," Ginny echoed. "What surprise."  
  
"Anyways," Hermione chirped brightly, "I must be going, you know, wedding business and all. Have fun Ginny, and it was nice seeing you again, Vince."  
  
"Always a pleasure," he returned.  
  
"Maybe I'll see the both of you at my wedding," Hermione winked. "The invitations say 'and guest' you know."  
  
With that last not-so-subtle hint, she dashed into the crowd, leaving Ginny unexplainably uncomfortable as she glanced up at her date. "I imagine she presumes herself to be cupid," Ginny said lamely.  
  
Vince laughed a bit, and she decided that it sounded rather pleasant. "That would be her," he agreed, and gestured to the quaint French restaurant they were standing in front of. "Dinner's on me. Shall we?"  
  
"I hear they have excellent wine here," Ginny said conversationally as they were seated.  
  
"They do," He confirmed vehemently. "This is one of my favorite restaurants. I have a feeling you'll like it."  
  
"Oh," she was startled as she opened the menu. "Everything's in French."  
  
"Not to worry," he smiled. "All their food is delectable, except for the duck in orange sauce."  
  
"Is that bad?" She asked curiously.  
  
"No," Vince laughed. "It just costs half of a broom, that's all. But if you'd like to try it, it's fine."  
  
"Thanks, but I'll be okay," Ginny assured him. "Just order for me."  
  
"Mademoiselle," he called to the waitress. "Nous voudrions le champagne-sauvignon, et. . ."  
  
She flushed a bit. So he was handsome, intelligent, and cultured. For once, Hermione had been in her right mind. "So do tell me," Ginny said after he was done. She was beginning to enjoy his company, in all honesty, him being one of the first guys whose jokes weren't oriented towards bedroom activities. "You're almost thirty. Why'd you let Herm set you up?"  
  
"I'm recently divorced," he admitted.  
  
"Oh, I'm sorry," she offered.  
  
"I'm not." A distasteful glint appeared in his dark eyes as if reminiscing left an acrid taste in his mouth.  
  
She gulped down the water. "Why not?"  
  
"She became pregnant," he said without a flicker of expression and she nearly spit in his face.  
  
"I would think the opposite," Ginny choked out after having swallowed and regained her composure.  
  
Vince made a face, screwed his eyes shut and wrinkled his nose. "I guess you haven't seen many pregnant women," he chuckled harshly. "They're not the most attractive, you know. They tend to get a bit. . .fat."  
  
"If you loved her, it wouldn't have mattered," Ginny said acerbically.  
  
"I just wasn't attracted to her anymore," he shrugged. "That's all. After the child was born, she never cared about exercising or working off all the weight she'd gained, and I just didn't feel the same towards her. I do have the worst luck with women. That happened with my first two wives, too."  
  
"Two?" Ginny's eyes went wide. "You've been married three times?"  
  
"Oh, but the second one didn't get pregnant," he reassured her, seemingly thinking her incredulous shock could be attributed to his plentiful children. "She just got fat."  
  
"You have something against voluptous women?" She snapped.  
  
He blanched, looking quite taken aback. "Er, well, it depends on what you mean by voluptuous."  
  
"Well, Mr. Lowens," she said, her voice laced with acid disdain, "Do you find me voluptious?"  
  
His eyes roved over her hips. "Well, if you want me to be honest, you could do with getting rid of those love handles," he said in a noncommittal tone aimed to be diplomatic.  
  
Her jaw dropped in fury, and with a quick flick of her wrist the contents of her glass were emptied on his pristine white shirt. "The only thing I'm getting rid of," she seethed, "Is the trash. Namely, you."  
  
"Hey, I just tell it like it is," He said indignantly. "You don't have to get all worked up over nothing."  
  
"Pig," she spat, and stormed out, stopping only to snatch a menu from a nearby waitress. "Send five dishes of the duck in orange sauce to table twelve," Ginny raged, quite obviously frightening the young woman.  
  
"But miss," the woman sputtered. "That's going to be incredibly expensive."  
  
Ginny smiled wickedly. "Oh, I know."  
  
~*~  
  
Harry was eating the remnants of her Chinese take-out when she apparated to her modest London flat, feet propped up on her coffee table and eyes fixated on the television. "Quidditch," he said gleefully by way of greeting. One hand delved into the food while the other absently patted the sleeping girl beside him, and if she hadn't been in such a foul mood, Ginny would've doubled in laughter.  
  
"What are you doing here?" She grumbled, draping her coat over a chair violently.  
  
Her mood must've radiated, because he immediately clicked off the game and ushered her to the couch. "Ron and Hermione wanted the apartment to themselves to do things I really don't want to think about," he chuckled, making a feeble attempt at humor. "So being the wonderful roomie he is, your brother kicked me out."  
  
Ginny threw herself on the couch, muffling her face in the pillow. "At least somebody's getting some tonight," she said dimly.  
  
Harry snorted. "Bad date, I'm guessing?"  
  
"Horrid," she replied, lifting her head and blinking a few times. "You wouldn't believe what an asshole this guy was."  
  
"Oh?" He lifted an eyebrow sympathetically.  
  
"Yes. He was this terrible, git of a man," she ranted between deep breaths. "A total and utter misogynist. But boy, did he get his just- desserts."  
  
"I don't even want to ask," Harry smiled ruefully.  
  
All cheery disposition she could have mustered from imagining Vince Lowens dripping wet disappeared, however, and she grabbed Harry's beer, swiggering down large mouthfuls. "He seemed so nice at first," she went on. "He spoke in French fluently! I thought that, you know, maybe it would actually turn into something. You realize I've never really loved anyone that way?"  
  
"What about that mystery man, Ginny? That one you told me and Herm about a few years back, who you were madly in love with and yet still refused to tell us his name?" Harry said eagerly.  
  
She winced. "I haven't seen him in six years, Harry," she sighed. Even though I work at his house, she added mentally. "I don't think I'm ever seeing him again. Let's face it, I'm doomed to be a spinster."  
  
"Now, now," He comforted, patting her back awkwardly.  
  
"Oh Harry," She lamented with another alarming gulp of alcohol. "You wouldn't understand. At least you've been married."  
  
His green eyes clouded then, and he glanced wistfully at his daughter, still asleep next to him. "Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, right?" His voice cracked as he tried to smile weakly.  
  
"Harry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean-"  
  
"It's okay," He shushed her, and swallowed. "Cho died nearly a year ago. I should be moving on." Uncurling her fingers from his beer, he downed the rest and collapsed against the cushions. "And yet, it still hurts whenever I think about her, you know? I mean, one moment we're living in this beautiful apartment, about to start a family, and the next minute she's gone and Ron's sleeping in the next room. Mind you, Ron's my best friend, but. . ."  
  
"But he's not Cho," Ginny finished, resting her head on his shoulder. "I know, Harry." They sat like that in peaceful silence for a few seconds before she laughed softly. "Look at us, Harry, two people in their mid- twenties feeling single and sorry for themselves."  
  
"Gin," His eyes lit up suddenly. "I've got a bloody brilliant idea."  
  
"What?" she said warily, knowing all too well about his 'brilliant ideas.'  
  
"Let's get married," he said triumphantly.  
  
She leapt up from the couch. "Are you kidding me, Harry?" She all but shrieked.  
  
"No," he insisted gravely. "I mean it."  
  
"But you and I, we're not in love," Ginny protested. "Marriage needs love, Harry. All relationships need love."  
  
He shook his head. "Look, Gin, you said it yourself. You're twenty- six, almost twenty-seven, and you're not married."  
  
"That's not old," she said defensively. "Hermione and Ron are twenty- seven."  
  
"But you've never had a serious relationship with anyone before," Harry pointed out.  
  
She colored. "So?"  
  
He sighed, exasperated. "I just think it would be proper for us to be married," he said quietly. "Maybe we're not madly in love, but we're good friends, very good friends, and we have a sturdy partnership. And it would be nice to see you settled."  
  
"You think I'm incapable of finding love?" Ginny narrowed her stormy brown eyes at him.  
  
"Well, yes," he admitted. "You've pushed every guy you've dated away since you've graduated, and then you disappeared for a year to god-knows-where. In truth, you don't look anywhere near settling down."  
  
"What about you, then?" She demanded. "What about that gorgeous blonde I saw you with two weeks ago? You seemed absolutely mad about her."  
  
He made a sour face. "We had. . .differences."  
  
Ginny crossed her arms and stared at him severely. "So you've had two bad experiences, what, you think you can't find love? You're just giving up?"  
  
"It's not that simple," Harry looked pained. "My daughter's almost six now, and she's bound to start missing Cho. I want her to have a mother, Ginny."  
  
"You want me to be that mother," She said flatly.  
  
"Well, you're a governess," He wheedled. "You'd be a wonderful mother. Why spend your life raising Malfoy's son, who will most likely resent you once he's old enough to truly be influenced by his bastardly parents?"  
  
"I like working with Sebastian," Ginny said acidly.  
  
"Who are you kidding, Gin?" Harry said. "He's a Malfoy, young or not. He may like you now, but he won't forever."  
  
She gazed at him with a stricken expression, wishing she could tell him how wrong he was but then knowing in her heart it was true. "I know," was all she said.  
  
"Ginny," Harry pleaded. "Think about it. It makes sense. What do you say?"  
  
She hesitated, feeling numb. A few years ago, she would've fainted at the idea of marrying the Harry Potter. A few years ago, back when she was still obsessed with him, back before she'd met (and done, Ginny thought ruefully) Draco Malfoy. How funny that someone she'd loathed so much would now influence her over someone she'd always thought she'd loved.  
  
But Harry was right, after all. There was no use hoping that Malfoy would suddenly return to her life and sweep her away, realizing by some freak of nature that he'd bedded a Weasley that devastating night and actually not regretting it. It was all just a lurid fantasy, and one for which she'd paused her romantic life for more than half a decade. He didn't love her- hell, he didn't even know her. The situation was ridiculous, really. Sometimes she just needed to let go of the dreams, Ginny realized as Harry watched her with anticipation. Harry was there, he was real, and he wanted her. So maybe it wasn't with the same, amazing passion she'd experienced with Malfoy, but she knew he would treat her well.  
  
"Okay," she said finally, praying she wouldn't look back upon that day in guilt. Sorry Malfoy, she thought grimly, trying to smile at Harry's elated grin, but I'm moving on with my life.  
  
~*~  
  
The burrow had never been extremely quite or still, so when silence overtook the entire household Ginny was a bit unnerved.  
  
"You're-are you-this is a joke, right?" Ron couldn't seem to get one coherent thought out.  
  
Harry beamed, and Ginny could detect a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "Nope," He clapped Ron's back. "We're going to be brothers-in-law, Ron."  
  
"My goodness," Molly Weasley squealed. "Ginny, why didn't you tell anyone you and Harry were dating?"  
  
The newly engaged 'couple' exchanged wary glances. "We, uh, didn't want things to be awkward in case we didn't work out," Ginny fibbed quickly, feeling awful about lying to her best friends and family. Normally, she'd have worried about Hermione's perspicacity latching on to their façade, but the brunette was so engrossed in her own wedding that all she could do was grin dumbly.  
  
"Sensible," Arthur agreed heartily. "My little girl is finally getting married, and it couldn't be to a better man."  
  
"Merlin!" exclaimed Ron. "Gin, this is fantastic!" Two splotches of excited pink appeared on his freckled cheeks, and he rushed to enclose the younger woman in a suffocating embrace.  
  
"Oh oh," Hermione piped up. "Tell us how you proposed to her, Harry. I'll bet it was absolutely quixotic."  
  
As all eyes fell upon Ginny, she flustered, realizing that their sofa conversation really wasn't much of a proposal. Luckily, Harry seemed to feel her surprise, and he spoke up with an alarmingly calm voice. "Well, I surprised her when she came home from that atrocious blind date Herm here insisted on setting up," he began, a rehearsed glint appearing in his eyes but lost to the rest, who were listening with rapt attention.  
  
"What?" Hermione said defensively. "I didn't know they were going out."  
  
Ginny allowed herself to relax slightly as he continued, just as interested to hear precisely how romantic he was. "And I invited her to join me and watch the quidditch match," he went on, "Where just that afternoon I had placed an order for one of those InviteFomercials."  
  
"Dear me," Molly murmured.  
  
Harry squinted at Ginny, aiming to create a starry-eyed gaze. "And she looked so angelic when it finally came on," he said dreamily, enducing a well-covered snort from Ginny. "And the telly version of me got down on one knee-" Here he enacted such mannersims "-and said, 'Ginny, you are my light when it is dark, my day when it is night, my sun when there are clouds. If you would be so for the rest of our lives, you would make me the happiest wizard in London.' And of course, she said yes." A collective sigh of approval fluttered through the room as Harry pecked her politely on the cheek, and she feigned embarassment.  
  
"It was meant to be," Hermione declared, and for that brief moment an image of a unsuspecting man with silvery hair flashed through Ginny's head. Those were the very words that had haunted Ginny for the past six years, that had appeared alongside what she could remember of Draco during every date. They were the words that had caused her to flinch at another man's sloppy kiss or fumbling touch.  
  
Then I guess Draco wasn't meant to be, Ginny told herself firmly, smiling at Harry and squeezing his hand. Harry and I were meant to be.  
  
Nobody noticed the flash of blond hair as an angry figure retreated from the window.  
  
~*~  
  
And so it was a sparkling diamond-Molly's engagement ring, to be exact-that she walked into Malfoy Manor with on her hand the following Monday. The doubts Ginny had felt before were now waning, and she was beginning to think that maybe one day, she would love Harry the way she had during her time at Hogwarts. She wanted some time before the actual event, however, as she realized marriage would mean spilling the numerous secrets she'd worked so hard to keep buried. He might not want to marry you after you tell him what you did, a little voice inside her warned. She pushed her fears away as that same voice asked whether she really wanted to be Mrs. Potter.  
  
She made her way dutifully to Sebastian's grand room, half in deep rumination and half surprised that Pansy hadn't appeared before her yet. Most likely she was in his room, too, Ginny supposed doubtfully. But of course, as usual, Pansy was nowhere near her son, and she found the child alone, giddily playing on his bed, a house-elf cleaning the area around him in a fervor.  
  
"Good morning, Sebastian," Ginny said cheerily.  
  
"Morning, Miss Weasley," He replied, not once glancing up.  
  
"Where's Lady Malfoy?" Ginny asked the scurrying elf, perplexed.  
  
"Mistress went on vacation," the house-elf squeaked. "Mistress will be back in a few weeks."  
  
"Oh." Ginny glanced around the sunny room before smiling at Sebastian. "Looks like it's just you and me, then," Ginny cooed.  
  
"You and me," he repeated happily.  
  
"Not quite," came a voice from the door. An unmistakable voice that could have only one owner. It had been seven long years since she'd last heard that voice, years filled with yearning. A part of her thought frantically that he couldn't possibly have returned, as Lucius Malfoy was still in Canada, but there was a guttaral feeling that thudded in her chest and she needn't turn around to know that without a doubt, the only man she'd ever physically bonded with was standing behind her.  
  
And just when her life was falling into place, too.  
  
Ginny swallowed. "Malfoy?"  
  
~ End of Chapter 3  
  
A/N* What, you think I'd let go of my cliffies? ^_^ And btw, the person outside of the Burrow was NOT Malfoy. . .at least not Draco Malfoy. Be my guest to venture a guess, but you'll have to stick around to see who it was!  
  
I know there's been a bit of confusion with the last two chapters, but if you don't know exactly what's going on it's supposed to be that way. So keep reading, and it'll eventually be clear.  
  
Now the review button is just ITCHING to be pressed. . . 


	4. Intoxication

A/N* aiy its been a while, I know, sorry! School sucks like a mother.  But here's the 4th chapter!  And I wrote another one-shot, called Conspiracies of the Mad, but I did that one by hand so I still need to type it up…so somewhere between this chapter and chapter 5 that one will be up.  =D 

Chapter 4.  Intoxication

          "Malfoy?"

Time must have been suspended as Ginny turned around, her pulse ricocheting with anticipation.  She wasn't quite sure whether to be happy or enraged that he was finally here, and she stared with blatantly dumbfounded awe.  "Malfoy," she said again, only this time it was more of a statement.

He looked exactly the same, if not better, leaning against the doorframe with that smug smirk on his handsome face and the same, disinterested glint in his silver eyes.  Granted, without the flush in his cheeks he was as pale as ever, but that flush had taken numerous unmentionables to work up, and she probably would've been rather jealous had it been there at the moment.  "That's my name," he said, looking quite amused at her speechlessness.

"I—uh—wow," she stammered.  

He rolled his eyes.  "Now I know I'm breathtaking, Weasley," he said dryly, "But try not to faint, okay?"

"How'd you know who I was?" Ginny said suspiciously, wondering—no, hoping he had indeed found out.

"Well for one," Draco retorted, "You have that disgusting Weasley hair.  And secondly, I wouldn't let anyone in my mansion without knowing who they are."

A surge of disappointment coursed through her veins, even more at the indisputable contempt apparent in his voice.  She was, quite plainly to him still the youngest weasel, Ron's little sister and Harry Potter's pesky admirer.  If only you knew, she thought wryly, darting a glance at Sebastian, who was watching their entire interlude quietly.

"Oh," she said, not sure whether it was appropriate to snap at him.  The old Virginia Weasley would've never stayed silent, but then again, the old Virginia Weasley would've never made deals with Pansy or slept with Draco, for that matter.

          "Well then," he moved into the room with one lackadaisical stride.  Gods he was beautiful, Ginny thought dizzily, so cold and untouchable.  "You've been working here for a long time, I presume."

          She nodded numbly.  "Since Sebastian was born."

          "I see," he said distastefully, the sneer from Hogwarts appearing upon his face.  But he wasn't the same annoying boy from school, Ginny told herself.  He was, in all measures, still spiteful and unnervingly calm, but seeing him take in her plain blue dress with an expertly condescending eye, she had to admit there was a different air around him now.  It was, perhaps, what had attracted her to the mysterious masked man back at Flint's ball, the unavoidable eloquence and opulence that emanated from the folds of his rich black robes.  Involuntarily, her eyes traveled up the length of his slender torso, eyeing the broad chest evident through layers of clothing, and then to his face, liking what she saw every bit of the way.

          "My god, Weasley," Draco interrupted her thoughts.  "Didn't your mother ever tell you that staring is rude?"

          "I'm not staring," she defended quickly, blushing with a fury.

          "Right," He drawled.  "And I'm not rich.  In all honesty, weasel, I'm used to women fawning over me."  A lazy smile came across his face now.  "But you were so busy ogling you missed every single word I just said."

          "Oh," her breath hitched as he rolled his eyes at her.  "Um, I'm sorry then, Mr. Malfoy.  What exactly did you say?"

          Draco folded two arms across his chest and settled into the chaise.  "I didn't, Weasley, but you wouldn't know that, now would you?"

          She scowled now, no longer charmed by his looks and recalling indeed the great prat he'd presented himself to be during their school years.  But the sharp reply that in any other circumstance would've leapt off her tongue stayed lodged in her throat as he stretched lissomely, and she couldn't help but remember the way his touch felt.  If anything, Draco seemed to notice her lack of speech, and tossed her a curious glance of well-masked puzzlement.  "Guess you're still that dense, aren't you?" He smirked.

          "I'm—you—uh—no," she managed to stutter out.

          Draco cocked an eyebrow.  "What was that?"

          "No," she said hurriedly, realizing somewhere she was making a gigantic fool out of herself.  "I, um, I said no.  As in I'm not dense."  _Now would be a good time to run away_, she thought grimly, but her feet—along with the rest of her quickly blushing body—were rooted to the ground.

          Her thankfulness was inexpressible, thus, when Sebastian piped up.  "Miss Weasley, guess what?"

          Both adults snapped towards the unexpected speaker, who sat quite serenely with what would've appeared to be an innocent grin.  "Uh, yes, Sebastian?" Ginny recovered, flashing the child a warm smile.

          "I think my wish might come true," Sebastian replied, golden eyes lighting up.

          "Your wish?"

          "Merlin, Weasley," Draco snorted.  "You're only job is to take care of the goddamn child, and you can't even pay attention.  What kind of nanny are you, anyways?"

          "I'm not a nanny, I'm a governess," Ginny said sharply.  "And you're one to talk, using such language upon an impressionable young child."

          He narrowed two mercury eyes and said in a low, silky voice, "Grown a backbone in the last few minutes now, have we?" 

          She chose to ignore him.  "What wish, Sebastian?"

          "You know, the one I made on my birthday," he answered.  "When I blew out the candles."

          "Blew out the—now why would you do that?" Draco said suspiciously.  "Tell me it doesn't have anything with what I learned in muggle studies."

          "Miss Weasley says it's tradition," Sebastian explained, his cheer faltering.

          "Oh, did she now?" Draco's eyes grew to dangerous slits.  "And pray tell, Weasley, why do you feel the need to associate the Malfoy heir—" He blanched as he said this, imagining the smugly satisfied look on Pansy's face "—with muggles?"

          "Not everyone's as biased as you, you know," Ginny shot back, her temper truly wearing short.

          "Muggles," Draco bellowed.

          "We've established that fact," Ginny said.

          "Weasley, this is a _pureblood_ child," Draco hissed.  _At least knowing how selective Pansy is with her men, I would think he is_, he added mentally.  "Beyond that, he is the child that will represent the Malfoy name.  What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

          "He's just a child, Malfoy," Ginny protested.  "I wanted him to have some fun on his birthday."

          "Fun?" Draco roared.  "Fun?  You want fun, throw a party.  God knows the boy's mother has enough of my money."

          A crestfallen sigh overcame Ginny, and she glanced at Sebastian with pitiful doe brown eyes.  "I-I couldn't."

          "Really?" Draco snarled.  "And why not?  Oh, I understand.  Too poor to have ever had a party, eh?"

          She looked torn between sympathy for Sebastian and extreme hurt at his disdainful words.  But it was Sebastian who spoke.  "She couldn't because I haven't any friends."

          "You—" Draco was at a loss for words.

          A trace of a smile came upon his ghostly pale face now.  "It's not easy being filthy rich, you know," He said, sounding more like Draco at twenty than a six-year-old child, and once again impressing both of them with his proficiency.  "I would think that you would know."  Silence overcame the room, Draco gawking at the quiet boy and Ginny reeling from the intense hatred that had been directed towards her earlier.  "I need to go to the loo," Sebastian finally said, hopping off his massive bed.

          "Sebastian," Ginny called, stopping him just outside the door.  "What _did _you wish for?"

          His gaze flickered from Ginny to Draco. "I wished for a father," He said, and then disappeared.

          Draco groaned from his seat on the velvety green chaise.  "Did you hear that?" Ginny said, her voice devoid of accusation and hurt.

          He raised those luminous gray eyes and fixed her with a blatantly weary stare.  "Hear what?"

          "He said he thinks his wish might come true," Ginny replied.  "Which means it hasn't yet.  You've been gone for seven years of his life, but—" She hestitated, the uncertaintly apparent in her voice.

"But?" He prompted.

"But you can still make it come true, Draco Malfoy," she said softly.

          And without another word, she fled the room.

~*~

"He's here, master."

"Who?" Draco snapped.

The house-elf quivered in the doorway of his massive den.  "Er, Mr. Zabini, master."

"Oh.  Send him in."  So Blaise was here, Draco thought.  Through his last few years at Hogwarts, he'd developed a comforting alliance with the dark-haired Slytherin, who was, much surprisingly, quite like him in many sense, and who'd oddly enough been there for Draco during the roughest of times.  He was also, consequently, the only visitor Draco had during those dark weeks in Canada.

"Draco Malfoy," A familiar voice rang out heartily.  "It's been a while since I've seen you in your natural habitat."

"I wouldn't exactly call it mine," Draco chuckled, "Now that Pansy has decided to redecorate."

"Hear, hear," Blaise agreed, patting him on the back congenially. 

"I assume you received my owl?" 

Blaise nodded solemnly, pulling out a wrinkled parchment from beside him.  "All two words of it.  May I read to you: 'Blaise—home.'" He stuffed the yellowed paper back into the folds of his robe and smiled broadly.  "I nearly died with shock at seeing how long it was, you know."

"Funny," Draco replied dryly.

"Aren't I?" Blaise settled himself down on the leather couch.  "So tell me, old friend, what's been bugging that intelligent mind of yours?"

"Well get this," Draco said leaning across his grand oak desk.  "It turns out that there's a little boy, aged six, running rampant around my mansion."

Blaise shot up.  "It can't be."

Draco nodded grimly.  "And his name is Sebastian Aurelius Malfoy."

"I like the name," Blaise remarked.

"That's what I told my idiot of a wife," Draco snorted.  "She didn't.  But then again, given her brain capacity, I'm not too surprised."

"So how are you faring with this kid?" Blaise wanted to know.

"Pansy, for the first time, has done something right," Draco shook his head.  "Or at least part of it right.  She hired a nanny."

Blaise arched an eyebrow, Malfoy fashion.  "Oh?"

"But the nanny is Virginia Weasley," Draco said conspirationally, causing his friend to double in laughter and shock.

"Weasley?" Blaise choked.  "As in, red-haired, whiny little sister of Ron Weasley with that god-awful temper?"  Draco nodded, bothered by his incredulity but somehow not able to place it.  "What's she like now?  Still dream about Potter?"

"She's different," Draco said slowly.

"Different, how?  Is she secretly married to that mudblood Granger?" He went on laughing, and Draco frowned, thinking about their earlier conversation.  He'd expected a confrontation, remembering the feisty spunk with which she'd yelled at him during his sixth year.  Time would've only sharpened her edge, he figured, and he was well prepared for her torrents of insults and infamous Weasley temper. But there had been none.  Instead, she seemed almost. . .happy to see him, if he could stretch it that far.  He wasn't dense—he saw the sidelong glances she tossed his way when she presumed him to be focused on Sebastian.

She _looked _different, that was for sure.  Her hair was somehow straight now, not the same, frizzy mess that had rendered her so much like Granger but sleek and properly pulled back into a dull yet admittedly neat bun.  The freckles had faded mostly, and without them she seemed paler than ever.  There were little lines that could be detected etched faintly around the eyes, and for the most part they were, well, tired.  She'd also filled out quite a lot, put on enough kilograms so she wasn't quite overweight but curvy enough to look like a woman instead of that miserable excuse of a stork-like body she'd had all throughout school.

No, that wasn't what struck him peculiar though.  There was something else different about her, though, beyond that.  Something that bothered him deep inside, something he couldn't quite place.  And then it hit him.

Her eyes had lost their spark. 

And for some reason, some unmentionable reason, he felt guilty, as if he were responsible for the dullness in those giant amber eyes.  Somewhere in his ancestry, there had been a seer, and he had inherited some sort of power—not quite so he could actually read minds or forecast the future, but enough to channel feelings in a powerful manner, thus resulting in a sharp perspecuity when it came to emotions.  It was how he always knew which buttons to push with the infamous trio, and it was why he could feel Weasley's bitter disappointment when he'd made a comment about her poverty earlier.  _She's bound to get angry_, Draco told himself,_ you're just being nutters.  _"Nah, they're about to be sisters-in-law," Draco pushed away his uneasy feelings as Blaise's laughter cut into his thoughts.

"So the mudblood's banging the muggle-lover now," Blaise hiccuped.

"Something like that," Draco agreed.                                                                                                                                         

"Well, I still can't believe it," Blaise declared once his amusement was in check.  "You, a father!"

"It's not that hard to believe," Draco smirked.  "But at any rate, I'm not the father."

"You're—you're—you're joking, right?" Blaise's mouth flapped open like a fish out of water.

Draco shook his head grimly.  "Not in the least.  I've never, actually, well, you know."

Blaise frowned.  "What?"

He lowered his voice.  "I never slept with Pansy."

"What?" Blaise reeled.  "But she's your wife."

"I know," Draco replied.  "Not by choice, of course, you know that.  I loathe the woman.  I itch to slap a divorce on her sorry little arse."

"So?" Blaise shrugged.  "Why didn't you take that sorry little arse out for a spin?"

"You wouldn't understand," Draco muttered.  "You never did understand her repulsiveness.  Doesn't matter though, because some other bloke has fucked my wife."  He let out a low, amused laugh, a chilling laugh, really.  "Not to say that I mind, but the woman's got me backed into a corner here.  She's making me pretend the little brat's mine.  Would've violated the pre-nup, you know, if people were to find out about his paternity."

"I don't get it," Blaise said, strolling to Draco's liquor cabinet and pawing through the alcohol.  "Why are you letting Parkinson string you along like this?"

"Because seven years ago, I let my guard down," Draco answered flatly, burying his head in his hands.  "Seven years ago, I met this amazing creature at Flint's masquerade, you know, the one that Rita Skeeter tried so hard to get an invitation to?"

"And failed, I might add," Blaise commented with a devilish smile as he removed the glass cork to a particularly large bottle of scotch.  "Don't tell me you shagged the girl?"

"Best night of my life," Draco said flippantly.  "Don't regret it one bit.  What I do regret, though, is falling asleep so Flint could find me the next morning and report it back to my all-too-eager-for-blackmail wife.

"Flint," Blaise pondered for a moment, reaching for a glass to pour his drink in.  "Don't tell me Flint's the father, because I'll go pound his womanizing arse into bloody smithereens if he's cheating on Vanessa again—"

"Hey, Zabini," Draco reached out and punched his friend lightly.  "Was she _that_ good in bed?  It's been eight years, you know.  You have to let go sometime."

Blaise tossed his empty glass angrily onto the floor, where it promptly smashed and skidded into the wall.  "I know, I know," He shoved two frustrated hands through his short brown hair.  "She left me for Flint, that sodding bastard, because her bloody father said I was a player.  Me! A player!  Where does he fucking come off?"

Draco restrained a laugh.  "No idea."

Blaise reached into the cabinet for another glass.  "I just miss her, that's all," he said ruefully, clinking the bottle to pour.

"You don't plan to break that one, do you?" Draco raised one eyebrow.

"Oh," Blaise seemed to notice his discarded glass for the first time.  "Sorry.  I can re-imburse that."

"No need," Draco waved his hand.  "I still don't understand this attachment to Vanessa Flint though."

Blaise downed the glass.  "I don't either.  But I think—I think I might have loved her."  He fingered the intricate carvings nervously, glancing away.

"Love," Draco said caustically, "is for fools."

"Yeah, I know," Blaise mumbled.  

Silence.

"So who's the bloke that knocked Pansy up?"

Draco shrugged.  "I was hoping you could find out."

Blue met gray as a fleeting understanding passed between the two men through the bond they had unintentionally forged known as friendship.  A smirk curved Blaise's lips, a smirk that resembled Draco's so eerily well.  He raised the glass and wiggled his eyebrows before gulping the rest of his alcohol.

"Well then.  Let the games begin."

~*~

          Holy. Shit. Malfoy had returned.

          Draco Malfoy, the very man she had so foolishly believed herself to be in love with, the man she had paused her life for, had returned.  "Asshole," she muttered, drunkenly raising a glass of vodka to her lips.  _Then why does the mere sight of him send flutters all throughout your body?_ A tiny yet incredibly annoying voice said.  It was the question she'd been trying to figure out in that hot and crowded pub all night, drinking herself into a stupor.

          "Lady, are you okay?" The bartender asked gently.  He was but a blur in her vision, of course, and she managed a weak smile.

          "Oh yes," Ginny reached into her pockets.  "I want another shot of that."

          "I think you've had enough tonight," he said dubiously.

          "Am I the customer or what?" She jabbed a finger at him, but missed his chest.  "The customer. Is. Always. Right."

          He shrugged, holding two hands up in protest.  "Okay, okay, coming right up."

          Nearly ten shots later, she apparated to her flat.  It was, of course, only on her fourth try that she actually managed to apparate to the correct place, and if she had been sober she probably would've winced upon apparating in on a random wizard shagging his boyfriend senseless.  But luckily, she was now soundly in the lobby of her quaint apartment, and with the help of a shocked neighbor, she managed her way to the stairs.

          "Is this where I live?" She said with a large smile.

"Yes, Miss Virginia," the kindly woman steadied her, trying her best not to wince at the disgraceful display.

"Thanks," Ginny replied, stumbling to her door.  

There were loud, distinct voices coming from her home, and she pressed against the wood limply.  "You're not serious," a male voice demanded.  _He sounds familiar_, Ginny thought.

          "I am," replied another voice.  Female, and distinctly cultured.

          "But why?"

          "Oh you know why, Harry.  Don't play stupid with me."

          "What is this, revenge?"

          "You could say that."

          Ginny fumbled with the door, wanting nothing more at that moment than to rest her head.  "Gods, they're so bloody loud," she mumbled as the voices continued.  She withdrew her wand and aimed it towards the shiny brass knob.  "Alotamora!" She said in a commanding tone—the best she could muster with all the alcohol pulsing through her system.

          While the door remained locked, the voices stopped abruptly.

          "Aleehamora!" She tried again.

          And then the door swung open, and Harry was staring at her with very wide, puzzled green eyes.  "Ginny?" 

          "Hello, luv," Ginny slurred.  "Who were you talking to?"

          He eyed her inebriated state, from her disheveled bun to her glazed brown eyes.  "Ginny?" He said cautiously.  "Have you been drinking?"

She swept past him into the room, and then turned around sharply.  "Of course not!"

He stepped close, sniffing at her breath.  "Gods, Gin, you're drunk as a sailor," he exclaimed.  "You never drink unless something really bad has happened.  Are you okay?"

          "I'm just dandy," she replied brightly, and then frowned.  "Who are you again?"

          He looked at her as if she'd grown another head.  "What?"

"Who are you?" She repeated. "I live here, right?  So who are you?"

"I'm your fiancé," Harry said, torn between laughing and feeling imperceptibly ridiculous.

Two loud popping sounds echoed throughout the room, and Ron appeared with Hermione on his arm.  "Hope you don't mind us dropping in like this, but—" His jaw went slack as he took in the scene before him.  

"Ginny?" Hermione squeaked.

Ginny swayed uncertainly, glancing between the two fuzzy characters.  "He's my fiancé," she said happily, pointing a vague finger towards Harry.  "I knew he'd come for me."

"Uh, yes," Ron said for lack of anything better to say.  "That's right, Harry's your fiancé."

"Harry?" Ginny asked confusedly.  "Why am I marrying Harry?  I'm in love—" she hiccupped loudly, causing Hermione to wince.  "—with Malfoy."

And then she promptly passed out.

~ End of Chapter 4

A/N* ::giggles insanely:: I loved writing inebriated!ginny ^_^ especially because my one-shot is a darkfic.  Man I started this one out to be not as fluffy as IS…I meant it to be all serious and dark and crap but GAH!  It's just so easy to write inebriated!ginny! now REVIEW!!!  And I have no time to do special thanks at this moment but you know I love you all.


	5. Unexpected Visitors

Disclaimer: Anything you recognize isn't mine, including the song in here ~ "Sunday Morning After," by Amanda Marshall.  It's a cute song, really.

A/N* FINALLY!  Man!  Thought I'd never finish this with all the stupid school crap and what not.  (no school today, so that would be why)  ::squeals:: 

Chapter 5. Unexpected Visitors

          "Mmm," Ginny murmured, turning over in her bed.  _That's odd_, she thought dreamily, _it's usually still rather dark when I leave for work_.  A nagging pain at the back of her head throbbed as she struggled to sit up, and with a loud groan of defeat she collapsed back into the sheets.

          "I think she's awake," came a voice, so distant and loud it pained her to listen.

          "And I was afraid she'd sleep into the next millenia," came yet another, and with an exasperated sigh Ginny burrowed her head beneath her pillow.

          "Do you feel the urge to make my headache get worse for some reason?" she demanded, sounding thick and muffled.

          "If it was just that simple," said the first voice, and after blinking viciously Ginny saw a fuzzy spot of red she recognized as Ron.  "You've been sleeping all afternoon, you know," he said affectionately, rumpling her head.  "And it's not quite a headache, but rather a nasty little hangover."

          "I don't drink," Ginny objected immediately, and then winced.  The embarassing events of last night flooded back to her, though the memories weren't particularly clear.  "Much," she amended.

          "You should've seen yourself," chuckled Harry, who was watching her with great amusement from the doorway.  "Stone drunk, I'm telling you.  Jabbering about all sorts of nonsense."  There was a pause.  "At least, it better have been nonsense," he muttered under his breath.

          "Yeah," Ron agreed, winking.  "I was a bit shocked at you, Gin.  Always thought you were the prim and proper type."

          "Well, I guess you don't know that much about me," Ginny joked half-heartedly, though if she'd been in her right mind she would've realized there was more truth to that statement than anyone could've imagined.

          From the lapel of his wrinkled shirt Harry drew out a small, bubbling vial.  "Hangover potion," he explained cheerily, passing it onto Ron.

          Ginny wrinkled her nose delicately.  "Well, if I'm recalling your Potions marks correctly, I really don't know if I want to drink this," she said, eyeing the vial with dubious concern.  "I'm not exactly in the mood to sprout Flamingo wings right now."

          "Snape had it in for me," scowled Harry as Ron let out a laugh.  "And anyways, Herm made it."

          Holding back a smile, she uncapped the small glass and downed the liquid in one large gulp.  "Meh," she said, scrunching up her face in disgust, "It still tastes like your cooking, Ron."

          "I happen to like his cooking," Hermione said as she sauntered into Ginny's bedchamber.  She planted a loud kiss on her fiancé's cheek, causing Ron's face to flame and Ginny to snort.

          "You guys are gross," she shook her head.  "And anyways, you have to say that."

          "Maybe," Hermione shrugged.  "Well listen, Gin, I'm on lunch break right now and I really have to get back to the ministry."

          "Lunch?" Ginny's face paled.  "Is it like, noon?"

          "Like, past noon," Ron informed her coolly.  "More like one."

          "Merlin!" shrieked Ginny, leaping out of bed only to stumble land on the floor in a tangle of sheets.

          "Get back in bed!" Hermione cried, aghast.  "You're not to be jumping around after taking the potion."

          "I have to get to work," Ginny cried.  "Oh gods, he's going to kill me."

          There was a long silence as the other three exchanged interested glances.  "Um, Ginny?" it was Harry who spoke.  "Did you say _he_?"

          Ginny winced.  She seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.  "Oh, right, didn't tell you."

          "Draco Malfoy's back?" Ron's voice boomed out across the room.  "I forbid you to work for that ferret, Gin.  You go march down and quit your job right this instant."

          "How dare—"

          "She's not marching anywhere," Hermione snapped.  "She is staying here, right in her room."

          "If Malfoy's back," Harry began slowly.  "Then what you said yesterday. .  ."

          Nobody heard him.  Hermione was occupied with calming a very irate Ron, and Ginny was rubbing her temples in frustration.  "Malfoy is no good," Ron bellowed.  "He'll. . .he'll hurt you, Ginny."

          "I can handle Draco Malfoy, thank you very much," Ginny said, but in a less indignant tone.  "And at any rate, I'm not quitting just because you want me to.  Just let me apparate really quickly and explain why I can't come in today—"

          "You're staying here," Hermione said firmly.

          "I'll go," snarled Ron, and both women were duly frightened by the ferocious expression on his face.

          "_Nobody_ is going," Hermione declared.  "He'll understand, Ginny, or I'll make him understand.  Just return tomorrow, I mean, he _is_ the father, right?  He can handle his own son."

          "Right," Ginny replied weakly, knowing there was no possible way to escape Hermione confrontationally.  "I think I'll sleep this headache off, then."

          "Atta girl," Hermione beamed, ushering Ron and Harry out of the room.  "Let her sleep now."

          Feigning tiredness, Ginny slipped back into bed and watched with bated breath as the door clicked shut.  _One…two…three…four…five…_she counted, and then quietly swung her legs out.  Clumsily she pointed her wand and locked the door.  If she left now, Harry and the rest were sure to never notice her absence, lest they barge in to check on her sleep later.  _I'm just doing this to stay near Sebastian,_ Ginny reasoned, determined there was no better explanation as she tightened her messy bathrobe.  It was exceedingly inappropriate to appear before Malfoy dressed in such, but given her wardrobe door squeaked incessantly she would have to make do.  Hopefully, she could sneak into the room at Malfoy Manor where Pansy had so cordially allowed her to store some possessions.

          With a crack, she disapparated.

~*~

          "So have you found anything?"

          Blaise rolled his eyes, dabbing at his lips with the snake-emblazoned napkin.  "It's been a day, Malfoy, what do you expect?"

          "Plenty," Draco smirked.  "Oh come off it, you know I like my things. . .fast."

          "Actually," Blaise replied, "I wouldn't.  And rather glad that I don't either.  But do tell me, is that the only reason you've invited me to lunch?"  He shook his head, mocking a hurt expression.  "Honestly, Malfoy, I don't like being used."

          "Of course not," it was Draco's turn to roll his eyes.  "Just like you didn't mind being used by Fleur Delacour during seventh year."

          "That, my friend," Blaise contradicted smugly, "Was not _me_ being used, just simply a part of my anatomy.  And I can tell you that the part Fleur was oh-so-kindly 'using' was definitely not objecting."

          "Mmm, if you say so," Draco finished off his plate.  "You know, I haven't eaten lunch in this room for over half a decade."

          "Me neither," agreed Blaise.  "Pansy never did invite me over too much.  I'm beginning to think she doesn't adore me."

          "And I wonder why," Draco said dryly.  "It's not like you slept with all four of her best girls within the same week, Zabini, no, not at all."

"Three," Blaise corrected seriously.  "I wouldn't touch Millicent Bulstrode with a ten-foot pole."

"Almost forgot about her there," Draco chuckled.  He raised his wine glass and arched an eyebrow at Blaise, only to find the dark-haired man staring at something past his shoulder.  "What?" he demanded.

          "Hullo," came another voice, a younger voice.  Draco twisted in his seat to see Sebastian watching Blaise with quiet curiosity from the door.

          Blaise glanced uncertainly from Draco to Sebastian.  "Um, hello there," he finally said, thrusting out a hand awkwardly.

          Sebastian glanced down at his hand and seemingly suppressed a smile, though it could've been a trick of light.  He moved closer to the table and shook the elder man's hand with tiny fingers before turning to Draco expectantly.  "Father," he addressed.  

          Draco was silent.

"He's talking to you," Blaise whispered.

There was a pause as the word sunk into Draco's mind, and he looked at his friend helplessly.  "Er—yes?" Draco knitted his eyebrows, no doubt fazed by Sebastian's cool golden gaze.  He barely dared to believe that this child was just six years old.

          "Miss Weasley is not here today," Sebastian said.

          "Well, when does she usually come?" Draco asked, surprisingly patient.

          "She's here in the morning," Sebastian replied.  "When I eat breakfast she's there.  But not today."

          "Oh," Draco frowned.  "This could be a problem.  Would you excuse Blaise and I for a moment, Sebastian?"

"Of course, Father," he said quietly and exited the dining room.

          Blaise watched him leave with raptured awe.

          "This is not good," Draco hissed as soon as the child was out of earshot.  "You heard how Argent Enterprises was trying to negotiate a deal with the Chudley Cannons, to be the official supplier of their quidditch equipment?"

          "Uh—I think so," Blaise said.

          "Well, that meeting's today," Draco cried.  "And as the president of Argent, I cannot afford to miss it.  I've been working out of office for the past seven years, and there is no possible way I'm staying home during the biggest deal of the millenium."

          "Your kid is awfully smart, Draco," Blaise pointed out dubiously.  "I don't think he'll die by himself."

          "Not mine," Draco reminded.  "Gods, I'm starting to think Pansy slept with a goddamn genius.  He sure as hell didn't get his brains from her."

          Blaise snickered.  "Look, I'd offer to watch the kid but unfortunately, not only am I atrocious with all little things I've got the nastiest murder case to clean up after."

          "Oh right," Draco rolled his eyes.  "Blaise fucking Zabini, wizarding detective."

          Blaise grinned broadly.  "Proud of it, mate."

          "I guess I could summon Weasley here," Draco said slowly.  "Send an owl to her or whatnot."

          "Good plan," agreed Blaise.

          "Yeah," Draco mused.  "That's what I'll do.  Let me fetch a quill and—"

          He was cut off most abruptly as something, or someone, landed flatly on the plate before him and tumbled into his lap, the impact sending both of them flying backwards as the chair's legs gave way.  "What the fuck," Draco yelled as he landed hard on his bottom, letting out a strangled yelp when his assailant knocked him flat on his back.

          Blinking a few times, Draco adjusted his eyes to his surroundings.  Everything was alarmingly red, and for a moment he was afraid he'd hit his head hard enough to inflict fatal damage.  Then he realized his entire face was enshrouded in a curtain or red. . .hair.  "Sorry," an utterly feminine voice murmured faintly as the weight disappeared from his chest, and so did the hair from his eyes.

          "Weasley?" Draco said disbelievingly, startling the redhead and causing her to land in a blubbering heap in between his legs.

          "It must have been the potion," she cried nonsensically.  "Hermione didn't tell me. . .oh my gods this is so embarassing I'm so sorry I really didn't—"

          "Oh do shut up," he grumbled, realizing with disgust that her landing had spilled much of his wine all over his once-pristine shirt.  She snapped her mouth closed immediately, staring at him with watery brown eyes and looking both apologetic and humiliated.  He yanked a napkin from the mess in which he was sitting and dabbed furiously in a futile attempt to salvage the clothes.  

          "That's only going to make it worse," Ginny said, grabbing the napkin from him and pulling out her wand.  "There," she whispered as the stain disappeared wholly from his shirt.  "Nothing a little magic can't fix."

          It dawned on her then that they were in a very promiscuous position, and that she was dressed in bedclothes—a worn bathrobe hanging very much open in fact.  Draco, however, was absolutely oblivious as he tugged at his clothes, apparently more concerned with his state of dress than hers.

          "Ahem," someone cleared his throat, and both Ginny and Draco glanced up to see Blaise smirking from his perch on the table.

          "Well look what the cat dragged in," Draco said sarcastically, getting to his feet and flicking a piece of cheese off his pants.  "Governess Weasley.  You do realize you're incredibly late?"

          "Virginia Weasley," Blaise said with a nod.  "Haven't seen you in a while."  He flicked his eyes over her tabby robe and stifled a snort.  

"Zabini," she acknowledged stiffly.

"I see nothing's changed much," he remarked with the same snide contempt she'd heard from Draco so many times.

          "I agree," she retorted, her chocolate eyes darkening and flashing with anger.  "You're the same dickless prick."

          Blaise raised both eyebrows at Draco.  "Well, well, well," he clucked his tongue.  "Honestly, Malfoy, you should pay your governess a bit more.  She doesn't even have enough clothes to change from sleepwear to daily wear."

          "Yeah, well, she'd be used to that," Draco said darkly, and Blaise smiled approvingly.  "What the hell was that, Weasley?"

          Ginny tried to smooth her hair, which she was sure was now sticking out in all sorts of odd directions, and fastened her bathrobe again.  "Um, I had a little trouble waking up, and I took this potion that had. . .side effects.  Gave me a tad trouble apparating," she explained hastily.

          "The only potion that gives people trouble apparating is the. . ." Draco trailed off, and his gray eyes widened in amusement.  "Got drunk, did we?"

          "Honestly," Blaise grinned.  "You should screen your help better."

          "Weasley," Draco bellowed.  "You're fired."

          Ginny's jaw went slack and her face reddened.  "But—that's—you can't do that!" She cried indignantly.

          Draco snorted.  "I just did.  Now listen, why don't you—"

          "No," she interrupted fiercely.  "_You_ listen.  I am the best thing that has ever happened to Sebastian, and you damn well know it.  Just because you don't like my family doesn't give you any right to fire me.  There are a lot of things you don't know, Draco Malfoy, and I bet if you did you'd think twice about letting me go."  She exhaled loudly, knowing her rant hadn't much sense to it but not caring too much.

          Draco glanced at Blaise, and then back at Ginny.  "Well that's no way to make your argument," he said smoothly.

          "Just give me one month," Ginny pleaded.  "I can prove to you I'm a very well qualified carer for Sebastian and if you're still not satisfied then by all means, fire me.  But let me prove my worth first."

          She waited with bated breath as Draco stared at her, his eyes steely and impassive.  "Fine," he finally said.  "One month."

          "You won't regret it," Ginny promised, letting out a sigh.

          He narrowed his eyes.  "I better not," he replied coldly.  "As for now, I've got a meeting and I need you to take care of Sebastian."

          She hesitated.  "But," Ginny protested, thinking of Hermione.  "I'm not supposed to leave my apartment and—"

          "What are you, nine?" Draco snapped.  "I don't care, take him back to whatever dump you live in.  He's your responsibility now.  I, for one, am going to get another set of robes for my meeting.  Get information, Zabini."

          "Will do," Blaise replied as Draco disapparated.  He directed his sneer towards Ginny.  "Well, I have a life too," he commented with a wink and also disapparated.

          Ginny glanced down at her feet and then at the scattered furniture lying all around the once-elegant room.  

Stupid Slytherins.

~*~

          "Oof!" Ginny cried as she landed clumsily in her living room, one arm wrapped around Sebastian.

          "Ginny!" she heard Harry cry.

          "Sorry," she said sheepishly.  "I had to go see Malfoy."

"Uh," was his flabbergasted response.

Pulling her hair back, she met his concerned gaze guiltily and began to explain her whereabouts when she noticed they weren't the only people in the room.  Sitting placidly on _her_ couch was an annoyingly beautiful woman, tall, slim, and elegant, with a wave of glistening golden hair that fell neatly to her shoulders and a strangely intense dislike in her pretty blue eyes.  

          "You're Ginny," the woman sniffed.

          Ginny glanced at Harry, who promptly looked away.  "Um, yeah, I am.  And who are you?"

          "_I'm_ the oth—" she began to reply haughtily, but Harry cut her off.

          "Ginny, this is Franny—er, Fran Price," Harry said nervously.  "We, uh, we work together.  At the ministry."

          For an inexplicable reason, Ginny suspected there was more to Fran Price than Harry let on, but she let the matter go.  They both, after all, did have their secrets.  "Nice to meet you," Ginny said, and though she valiantly tried to inflict warmth in her voice, she somehow ended up rivaling Malfoy in demeanor.  

          "Right," Fran replied snottily, and Ginny resisted the urge to slap her perfect face.

          "Anyways," Harry hastened, running his fingers through his messy shock of hair, "Fran was just leaving."

          "It's noisy," someone said, and everyone turned to see a sleepy girl of about six rubbing her eyes as she stumbled into the room.  "Oh," she said, adjusting to the light.  "Hullo Fran."

          Ginny frowned, Harry reddened, Sebastian stared curiously, and Fran smiled.  "Hello Evie," she said in a soft voice.

          Evie turned to Sebastian with equal interest, her eyes bright as she inspected him.  She had her mother's eyes, dark and luminous, framed with inky black lashes but flecked with Harry's green.  "Who are you?"

          "Who _is_ that?" Harry seemed to notice Sebastian for the first time.

          The young boy stood up, glancing at Harry and then back at his daughter.  "Sebastian Aurelius Malfoy," he said stiffly.

          "That's Malfoy's kid?" Harry blanched.

          "Malfoy?" Fran asked.  "As in Draco Malfoy of Argent Enterprises?"

          "That's a long name, Sebastian." Evie grinned.  "I'm Evie Potter."

          "How do _you_ know Malfoy?" Harry demanded, turning to Fran.

          "Duh, people don't call me that," Sebastian pointed out rudely.

          "Play nice, Sebastian," Ginny scolded.

          Fran shrugged.  "Everyone knows who Draco Malfoy is, Harry.  It doesn't mean we're personal."  Their eyes met for a long second before Harry broke away, clearing his throat loudly.  It did not go undetected by Ginny, and she raised her eyebrows in intrigued contemplation as Harry coughed again.

          "I thought you were leaving," he said, as politely as possible.

          She flashed him a sweet but obviously fake smile.  "Of course, Harry.  Goodbye then, Evie."

          "Goodbye," the raven-haired girl chirped as Fran disapparated. 

          "How do you know Fran?" Ginny asked after a few moments of silence.

          "Oh, Daddy used to—" Evie began.

          "Why did you bring Malfoy's kid here?" Harry interrupted.

          "He asked me too," Ginny shrugged, winking at Sebastian.  "And I like Malfoy's kid, so I agreed."

          "Oh," Harry said.  "Well, I promised Evie a day of shopping so I'm assuming you'll be fine by yourself."

          "Just dandy," Ginny reassured as he took Evie's hand.

          "Nice to meet you, Sebastian," Evie called over her shoulder.  Sebastian, whose regal Malfoy upbringing seemed to suddenly kick in, responded to her sunny farewell with a stony disposition.  

          "Is this where you live?" he asked after they were safely gone.

          "Yep," Ginny nodded.  "I'm going to take a shower now.  You think you can be by yourself for a few minutes?"

          "Maybe," Sebastian replied with an impish grin.     

          She hesitated at the door to the bathroom.  "You don't like Evie," she said, though it was truthfully a question.

          The child looked up from his seat on the floor with a curious glint in his wide golden eyes.  "Why wouldn't I?" He shrugged, but before Ginny could smile approvingly, he added, "Besides the fact that she's a sodding _Potter_."

          He sounded so much like Draco Malfoy, Ginny didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

~*~

          "Name?"

          Draco Malfoy paused, feeling imminently out of place in the lobby of Ginny's apartment building.  "Virginia Weasley," he said.  

The woman manning visitors was in her forties, with wild brown hair that mildly resembled Granger's and beady, reproving eyes.  "There's no response from her, sir," she said after a moment.  

          "Impossible," Draco scoffed.  "Just tell me the number of her apartment."

          "Sorry, but I can't let you in unless you're buzzed up," the woman said most unapologetically, and Draco felt the infamous Malfoy temper within him flare angrily.

          "Listen, woman," Draco gritted his teeth.  "I have a meeting in twenty minutes to negotiate the biggest deal of the century, and I need to bring my son with me to make a good, family impression.  It just so happens that my son is under the care of Virginia Weasley, so give me the number, damnit!"

          "Again," The woman replied placidly.  "I can't do that."

          "Do you know who I am?" Draco snarled.  "I'm Draco Malfoy, president of Argent Enterprises, and if you don't give me the fucking apartment number, I will make your life a living hell because I assure you, I can."

          "Is that a threat?" she narrowed her eyes.       

          "No," Draco said icily, his furious silver gaze enough to weaken even the most obdurate of obstacles.  "It's a promise."

          She seemingly shrunk under his malicious sneer, and after only a moments hesitation said in a quiet, defeated voice, "Third floor, D."

          He briefly contemplated the standard expression of gratitude, but then decided he owed this woman no thanks.  Purposefully strolling towards the stairs he was so preoccupied seething over her gall to dare refuse his request he didn't notice a black-haired man and his daughter until he ran into them.

          "Malfoy?" Harry said incredulously.

          "Oh look," Draco sneered.  "It's Potter."

          "Are you Sebastian's father?" the little girl piped up.

          Of course, being Draco Malfoy, he debated whether to snarl at her also, but thankfully had enough aptitude to reply shortly, "Yes."

          "Come Evie, let's go," Harry said, tugging at her hand.  

          Draco only watched them for a second before sprinting up the stairs, his mood more dour than ever.

          Stupid Gryffindors.

~*~

          "Oh my god I woke up with a snake tattoo,"  Ginny sang as she squeezed her pouf with a satisfying ferocity and watched the soap drain out.  The hot water, though relaxing her muscles, did absolutely nothing for her lingering headache.  It was just as well, as Hermione's potion was starting to vaguely take effect.

          Maybe it would be appropriate just to outright tell Malfoy that she was the woman from seven years ago. _ Like he would care_, she thought.  She could already imagine the horrified expression on his face when he realized he'd slept with a Weasley.  _Oh yes Draco, by the way, remember that night at __Flint__'s house when you shagged a random woman?  Yes that was me.  _At any rate, the reason why they had merged physically was one she wasn't desparate to reveal to anyone, much less Draco Malfoy.

With a grimace, Ginny shook her wet mane and resolved to stop thinking about him, stop feeling like he would love her back or even see her in a romantic light.  "Oh my god and I think that my tongue's pierced too," she sang loudly, as if her voice would banish him from her thoughts.  "Oh my god, oh my god, it's the Sunday morning after. . ."

She wrenched the faucet to an off position, determined more than ever to put him out of her mind.  "And baby who the hell are you!" She finished in a half-shout, pleased with her reckless flourish.  Wrapping a large white towel around her she danced her way out the bathroom, twirling twice for good measure and flopping down on the couch.  Most likely there would be a sopping wet spot from her hair, but at the moment Ginny closed her eyes and sighed deeply.

The weight on the sofa shifted.  "Sebastian?" She murmured dazedly.

"Try the other Malfoy," a rich voice came in her right ear, dangerously close.

Her eyes flew open to see Draco sitting on her couch, in her living room, his gray eyes geniuinely amused and his lips curled in what could've been a smirk but looked more like a broad grin.  What was he doing here?  Before her mind registered what was happening, she reached out and pinched him firmly on his forearm.

"Ow," he yelped.  "What the fuck?"

"Malfoy?" Ginny cried, leaping up and tightening her towel.  "You're here.  You're actually here."

"No shit," he scowled, rubbing his forearm.  But as he raked his gaze up and down her towel-clad form, his eyes resting a moment too long on her chest, the scowl gave way to an unmistakable smirk.  "It's the Sunday morning after and baby who the hell are you," said Draco in a sing-song voice, no doubt inexpressably entertained by her quickly reddening countenance.  

"Merlin," she breathed, eyes growing as wide as saucers.  

"You know," he drawled so softly it was menacing, "I think that song sounds better when it's actually on-key."

"Argh!" Ginny shrieked, and ran into her room with loud slam of her door.  He had better have an adequate explanation for his presence.  And if he didn't, she was really going to kill him.  

But she had to get dressed first.

~End of Chapter 5

A little preview of the next chapter for being such wonderful and patient reviewers: =D 

~~~

"Don't be daft," grumbled Draco.  "Like I've pointed out before, you're a muggle-loving Weasley."  He swung open the door and waited for her to step through, but instead she stared at him in startlement.  "What?"

          "You opened the door," Ginny pointed out with a surprised grin.

          "Keen observation skills," said Draco dryly.

          "You opened the door for _me_," Ginny said, her grin broadening.

          As if noticing for the first time, Draco glanced dumbly from the smooth lines of his hands to her, and coughed.  "Oh I get it," he recovered easily.  "No guy has ever held a door for you before."

          She simply smirked at him, _his_ smirk, and waltzed out the door with Sebastian in tow.  "Not a Malfoy."

~~~

and didja know, the more you review, the faster ffnet uploads my chapters? ^_^


	6. We Are Family

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  But the plot and various characters are still mine, and if you take any of it without my consent I will have your head.  Literally.

A/N* Sorry it's taken so long!  But a hand of applause to my new Beta, Priscilla, who has made possible the continuation of this story!  I also want to say thanks for everyone who emailed me about beta-ing – I was overwhelmed at the kind response.  

**In this chapter:**

~ Draco learns to see Ginny in a new light

~ The Malfoys + 1 have a business outing featuring feisty!Ginny and stubborn!Draco

~ More of the D/G interaction that you've all been waiting for…

Also, I just wanted to clarify after somebody asked why Draco doesn't recognize Ginny. My reasons are that a) he doesn't want to (I mean come on, a Weasley!), b) he thinks its impossible – after all, it was a _Slytherins only_ party, and c) she's changed.  You have to remember that in the first chapter, she had a mask on so he never saw her face, plus add the fact that they were both a bit tipsy and that she's been through some physical changes (::ahem ahem::) and it should be pretty possible that he doesn't know she's the redhead from years past.

ONTO CHAPTER 6!!!!!!!!!!!! ---à

Chapter 6.  We Are Family - I Got All My Malfoys With Me

          Draco stretched out lazily on Ginny's tattered couch, incapable of keeping the smirk off his face.  "I don't think I was supposed to let you in," came Sebastian's voice from the corner of the room, where he was seated with a cheerful coloring book.

          "I don't think so either," Draco agreed amusedly, opening two half-lidded grey eyes to survey the child.

          Sebastian glanced up from his intense concentration of coloring, and an impish grin appeared on his face, one that rendered him much like Draco.  "Good."

He stifled a laugh, realizing that indeed, the boy was growing on him.  As for Weasley, he hadn't meant to upset her—though he couldn't say he was sorry—but it was just so easy to get her riled up.  With a bored yawn, he gracefully leapt to his feet and surveyed the small room for something to pass the time.  Scanning over Sebastian, Ginny's still closed bedroom door and the rest of the room, a series of bright, framed photographs resting on her mantle caught his attention.  Striding over towards the fireplace, Draco eyed the pictures with curiosity. 

          "Oh look," muttered Draco to nobody in particular.  "Mudblood Granger.  Now there's a sight I want to see early in the morning."  He moved on, rubbing at a dust-covered picture of Harry and Cho, beaming happily into the camera with their arms woven together.  Picture Cho gave her husband a loud smack on the cheek, and with a muffled groan, Draco immediately replaced the photo.

          The third photograph, set in a small, simple, silver frame, featured seven jubilant teenagers standing under an ostentatious banner that read "Happy Graduation Ginny."  Draco tilted his head, recognizing Ron Weasley, Potter, Granger, Cho Chang, Longbottom, Creevey, and the little weasel herself.  He bit his bottom lip then, recalling his own lavish graduation party and how Pansy had followed him around the entire, miserable night.

          _I bet they had to hire themselves for entertainment_, he scoffed, suppressing the wave of—longing, was it?—that washed over him.  They looked so. . .happy.  He was about to set it back when animated Ginny moved, and something sparkled from around her neck.  Peering closer, Draco could make out a small necklace, a deep, sea blue that glinted like sapphire.  Why did that necklace seem so damn familiar?

          He slipped a hand into his pocket and withdrew a delicate silver chain with a shining tear-shaped stone pendant, about to squint at the photograph for careful examination when Ginny's door opened.  "Malfoy?" she called.

          Nearly jumping in surprise, he shoved the picture back and dropped the jewelry back into his robes, turning to face her with an expression of calm upon his face.  "Weasley," he said, clearing his throat.

          She stood facing him with a bemused, almost shy smile upon her face.  Her face was clean and devoid of any make-up, and a few loose tendrils escaped the wet bun she had hastily arranged her hair into.  "I'm sorry about the, um, informality of that whole incident," Ginny said, not sounding apologetic at all.  "But I wasn't expecting you."

          He blinked, unable to take his mind off the stark contrast between Weasley and Pansy.  She was dressed in a simple linen dress, sleeveless and boat-necked that billowed out below her knees—an outfit Pansy would've rendered plain and rather committed suicide than wear.  It was not a knockout dress, most certainly not the kind that would turn heads on the street, but fresh, and innocent in an almost charming way.  _Gods_, he thought, _I just thought of Weasley as something other than repulsive_.

          Shaking his head, Draco replied smoothly, "I needed my son, Weasley.  I'm sure you can understand that."

          She narrowed her sharp brown eyes at him.  "Actually, I can't.  I thought you said you had a meeting today."

          Draco let out a sigh.  "I did.  I do.  That's why I need Sebastian.  Apparently the man I'm negotiating with refuses to deal with non-family oriented men.  And he knows I have a son, so I need to bring Sebastian with me—"

          "To seal the deal," finished Ginny.  "Intelligent."

          He shrugged at the obvious disdain in her voice.  "Right.  So Sebastian and I will be on our way now."

          "Malfoy!" Ginny cried.  "You don't know anything about taking care of Sebastian."

          "He's six," Draco said in a bored tone.  "What's there to know?"

          She regarded him disapprovingly.  "A lot," she responded quietly.  "Look, let me come with you."

          There was surprise reflected on his face.  "Come with me?" He repeated.

          "Wouldn't that make you seem even more of a family man if you actually knew what you were doing?" Ginny pressed.  "And face it, Malfoy, you have no idea what you're doing with Sebastian."

          "That is not true at all," Draco snapped defensively.  "I _always_ know what I'm doing."  _Though not always who, he added mentally._

          "Where am I going?" asked Sebastian with cautious curiosity.

          Thrown off, Draco sent Ginny a wary glance, but received in response a sweet smile which plainly told him he was on his own.  He gritted his teeth while abhorrence for all things Weasley grew more and more.  "To my office," Draco told him lamely.

          Sebastian wrinkled his nose.  "Why?"

          "Yes, Malfoy, why?" Ginny chimed in innocently.

          He resisted the urge to growl at her.  "Well, you've never been to my office before, and I thought you might like to see it."

          "Isn't it a lovely idea?" Ginny grinned at Sebastian and clapped her hands in mock excitement.  "You can play on the nice new furniture and jump on his desk."

          "Really?" Sebastian's face lit up.

          "Actually," Draco jumped in quickly, glaring venomously at Ginny, "There's a nice man that I'm meeting with today, and he wants to see you."

          "Oh."  The disappointment was evident in the child's voice.  "Yuck."

          "We can get you ice cream afterwards," Ginny said suddenly, much to Draco's surprise.

          "Ice cream," scoffed Draco under his breath.

          But evidently, she had piqued Sebastian's interest.  "Promise?" He asked hopefully.

          She nodded.  "Cross my heart."

          "Okay," Sebastian agreed jubilantly.

          With a triumphant grin, Ginny turned to Draco.  "Do I need to say I told you so or is that pretty obvious now?"

          "You proved nothing," grumped Draco.  "Luck, that's all."

          "Fine," Ginny said impatiently.  "Luck it is.  So bring me along and you'll have better luck, right?"

          She had a point.

          "Well—"

          "You _know you need me there, Malfoy," Ginny pressed._

Draco hesitated, glancing from a curious Sebastian back to a pleading Ginny.  "This is a very important account—" he began warningly.

          "And you'll get it," Ginny promised.  "You have better chances with me there taking care of Sebastian than if you bring him along and totally lose control.  I know Sebastian doesn't look like a temperamental child, but you haven't known him for very long now have you?"

          He seemed to consider her words.  "And if I don't get the account?"

          "Then I'll—" Ginny's mind ran through the possibilities quickly "—I'll leave.  Permanently."

          A ghost of a smile tugged at his lips.  "You really are confident about this, aren't you," he remarked admiringly.

          "I am," Ginny insisted.  "But if you do get the account, you owe me an apology."

          "Fair enough," agreed Draco, if with reluctance.

          "_And_ dinner," she added.

          He snorted.  "Now you have to bet for food, huh?"

          She rolled her eyes at him, not in the least affected by his words, and smiled rather cockily.  "Think what you want, Malfoy," she answered.  "You're still buying me dinner."

          "Oh I don't know," he began.  "I don't really want to risk losing this account, you know."

          Swinging open the closet door, she reached up on the tip of her feet for a pair of heels resting on the highest shelf.  "Would you stop it?" Ginny demanded.  "Do we have a bet or not?"

          "Fine," he replied, sighing as Ginny made another grab for her shoes.  The shelf was a bit high though, and she failed valiantly as she stretched and attempted to close her fingers around the heels.

          "Good," she said, glancing at him once to smile approvingly before leaping up yet again to swipe at the shoes.  With each movement, her dress strained across the curve of her chest and involuntarily, Draco noticed.  He watched her make useless efforts for a moment, and then realized that he was staring at a _Weasley_.  An unattractive Weasley at that.  Okay, not _entirely _unattractive.  Letting out a sharp hiss of breath, Draco nimbly removed the shoes for her.

          "A little short there?" He smirked.

          She sent him an annoyed look, and yanked her sandals out of his grip, brushing a bit of dust from them.  "I'm not short," she retorted.  "You're just tall.  Not everyone hits the six feet mark, you know."

          He made a show of brushing his hands on the rich black fabric of his robes.  "Not everyone is gorgeous, but I live," he drawled.

"Honestly, Malfoy," Ginny slammed the closet shut and jammed one foot most unbecomingly into her shoe.  "You'd think I had a plague or something."

"You do," Draco returned.  "It's called being a Weasley."

"Oh grow up," snapped Ginny.  "I thought you'd have gotten over that stupid stage of immaturity after we left Hogwarts."

He had no response for that.

She slid the other foot in, and then glanced down at the shoes with a bright, happy smile.  "They still fit," she commented, beaming.  "I'll go change my dress quickly and we can be on our way."

          "You look great," Draco said automatically, and they both stopped in surprise.  If Malfoys could blush, this one would have.  "What I mean is," Draco hastened to correct himself, "There's no need to change.  That, uh, sack that you have on is suitable.  And we don't have enough time anyways."

          A faint frown appeared on her face, and it seemed she couldn't decide whether to snap at him or smile.  "Okay then," she said after a pause.  "Sebastian?"

"Coming," Sebastian said, scrambling off the couch.

She watched him slide on his robe for a second, and then her lips curled into an amused smile as she turned once more to Draco.  "You think I look great," she chortled.

          "Don't be daft," grumbled Draco.  "Like I've pointed out before, you're a Muggle-loving Weasley."  He swung open the door and waited for her to step through, but instead she stared at him in startlement.  "What?"

          "You opened the door," Ginny pointed out with a surprised grin.

          "Keen observation skills," said Draco dryly.

          "You opened the door for _me_," Ginny said, her grin broadening.

          As if noticing for the first time, Draco glanced dumbly from the smooth lines of his hands to her, and coughed.  "Oh I get it," he recovered easily.  "No guy has ever held a door for you before."

          She simply smirked at him, _his_ smirk, and waltzed out the door with Sebastian in tow.  "Not a Malfoy."

~*~

          "I still think this is a bad idea," Draco grumped.

          Ginny rolled her eyes impatiently.  They were standing inches from the grand silver doors of Argent Enterprises, and Draco was regarding her with wary suspicion.  "How many times do we have to go through this?" She said in an irritated voice, moving to open the door.

          The flat of his hand landed over hers, preventing her from stepping inside.  "This is a very large deal I'm negotiating," Draco said, narrowing his slate gray eyes.  "I don't want anything to ruin it, including you."

          "Me?" she cried incredulously.  "The only person that's going to ruin your sodding account is you."

          "Maybe you're jealous of being impoverished," Draco shot back.  "I don't know.  People get desperate when they're poor, or so I've heard."

          "Oh right," Ginny glared.  "I almost forgot, poor Draco Malfoy, wealthy and spoiled his entire shallow life."

          "At least I didn't waste my life lusting over Saint Potter," He jeered, and her eyes went wide.

          A long, awkward silence.

          "We're acting like children," Ginny said softly after a moment.

          "_I'm not acting like a child," Draco began, tightening his grip on the door._

          With a soft sigh, she let go.  "Listen, Malfoy," she told him seriously.  "I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize Sebastian's life, okay?  I agree that we've had bad history, or rather that you've had bad history with my brother—" he scowled at the mention of Ron "—but we're grown adults now, and I'm not out to ruin your fortune, honestly."

          He was silent for a moment.  "Well—"

          She reached for his hand, and he jerked back in startlement.  "I won't bite," she chuckled, turning it over and tracing across the pads of his palm with light fingers.  

          "What are you doing?" He demanded.

The nail of her index finger scraped gently along the long line etched faintly down the center.  "See?" Ginny smiled.  "You worry too much.  Your worry line is excessively long."

          "Really," Draco said, interested.

          She giggled.  "I can't believe you think _I'm going to ruin your deal when you actually believe in worry lines."_

          He snatched his hand away, sending her a deathly glare and muttering something along the lines of "Stupid Weasley" as he strode purposefully into his grand office.

          "Sir," said his secretary, "Mr. Bronson is waiting in conference room A."

          With a curt nod at her, he whipped around and stared at Ginny, hard, once more.  "This is it," Draco said.

          "Are you nervous?" Ginny peered at him.  "The day I see Draco Malfoy nervous!  Gods!"

          "Am not," he scowled again.

          "Am not," she mimicked under her breath, and followed him inside.

          The man she presumed to be Mr. Bronson stood up as they entered, about ten or so years older than Draco, with graying brown hair and weathered blue eyes.  "Mr. Malfoy," he greeted politely.

          "Good day, Mr. Bronson," Draco said, shaking his extended hand.  "Pleasure to do business with you."

          "With my money," snorted Mr. Bronson.

          Draco chose to ignore that last remark.  "Ah, well, before we get started, I'd like to introduce to you my son, Sebastian Aurelius Malfoy."

          The small note of pride ringing in his voice did not go unnoticed by Ginny.

          "Nice to meet you," Mr. Bronson grinned at the child.  "How old are you?"

"Six," Sebastian replied.

"Darling," Mr. Bronson told Draco, eyes never leaving the young boy.  "He looks just like you."

His words launched Draco in a seizure of coughs, and Ginny patted him on the back in alarm.  "Are you okay?"

Mr. Bronson swept his scrutinizing gaze to Ginny.  "And who's this?  Don't tell me you hired a nanny."

          For the first time in his life, Draco seemed flustered.  "Uh—"

          "Of course not," Ginny said quickly.  "I would never let a stranger take care of my—my son."

          Both men regarded her with surprise.  "You're Pansy," he said with unhidden shock.  "Why, Mr. Malfoy, from what I heard you despised your wife."

          Draco sent Ginny a tight-lipped smile.  "Not at all, Mr. Bronson," he said, gritting his teeth.  "She's the light of my life."  With one arm, he encircled her waist and pulled her close, lips landing on the soft skin of her cheek as if to prove his point.  "What the hell," he hissed into her ear before he released her.

          She tried not blush, tingling in all the places he had touched her.

          Mr. Bronson smiled approvingly.  "Well!" He declared with a hearty laugh.  "A family that actually stays together these days is indeed, a rarity."

          "Indeed," Draco agreed.  "Would you be so kind as to excuse my _wife_ and I for a moment?"

          Not waiting for a response, he dragged Ginny out of the room, fire shooting from the cold depths of his eyes.  "_What are you doing?" He demanded as soon as they were out of earshot._

          She wrenched away from him.  "I'm doing you a favor," she snapped.  "Did you actually want to tell him that you hired a nanny?  That you don't even know your own son?"

          He glared at her.  "This never would have happened if you didn't come along."

          "This is not my fault," Ginny seethed.  "I have had it up to here with your selfish, puerile mindset, Draco Malfoy.  You don't give a damn about anyone in this world but yourself, not even your own son, the Malfoy heir.  How dare you try to place this on my head?  _I_ just saved your sorry ass in there, and you know it."

          Silence.

          "Pansy is not going to like this," Draco mumbled after a few seconds.

          Ginny suppressed a smile.  "Pansy won't know.  She's in Aruba, remember?"

          He stared at her thoughtfully for another long moment before a smile finally appeared on the faint corners of his lips.  "Well then," Draco finally said, offering an elbow to her.  "Ready to negotiate one hell of a deal, Mrs. Malfoy?"

          She grinned at him, tucking her arm through his and wishing it didn't feel so right.

~*~

          "Shit."  Draco collapsed on his long leather sofa, closing his eyes and letting out a deep sigh.  "Shit shit shit shit shit."

          "Malfoy!" Ginny admonished.

          "Cool your jets, Weasley," he said lazily.  "He's asleep."

          She turned to her right and saw that indeed, Sebastian was curled up in his chair.  "Still," she protested feebly.

          He couldn't quite decide whether to ignore her or laugh, and opted on the former.  

          "Why are you so crabby, anyways?" Ginny asked, standing up and smoothing out her dress.  "You got the deal.  It's over.  And you haven't killed me."

          "Yet," Draco added, but his tone was rich and deeply amused.

          "Do you think Sebastian still wants ice cream?" Ginny remarked affectionately after a momentary pause, ruffling the blond head of the sleeping child.

          Draco snorted.  "And how exactly is he supposed to eat it, Weasley?"

          "He's a light sleeper," Ginny told him.  "He'll wake when we move him, and he'll want ice cream."

          Draco turned to meet her gaze, and contemplated her words.  She did have a point—his entire family had a history of sleeping on pins, and even if Sebastian wasn't a true-to-blood Malfoy he was still raised in that household.  "Well. . ."

          "You doubt that I know so much about your kid?" Ginny suppressed a smile.

          "Always ready to pick a fight, aren't you?" Draco returned easily.  "Actually, I was just thinking that it's really rather late."

          She shrugged.  "So?"

          "So where the bloody hell do you expect to get ice cream?" Draco demanded, exasperated.

          She wiggled her fingers at him as a conniving smile spread across her face.  "We're not Muggles, Mr. Malfoy," she giggled.  "It's called magic."

          "I am _not conjuring ice cream for him to eat.  And neither are you, because I don't trust your magical abilities," Draco huffed._

          With a loud sigh of resignation, she settled herself down on the sofa beside him and glared at him playfully from under long brown lashes.  "Haven't I proved to you that I'm more apt than you could possibly imagine?"

          He rove his glittering eyes up and down her body, smirking.  "Are you?" He said in an almost husky voice.

          Blushing, she swatted him across the chest, hard.  "You are such a wanker."

          Draco closed his eyes in response, the smirk still upon his thin lips.  "Tell me something I don't know, Weasley."

          "Okay," Ginny said slowly, getting to her feet.  "How about the world's greatest ice cream parlor on 57th street?"

          He glanced up at her now in surprise.  "57th street?" He echoed.  "Isn't that in. . .Muggle England?"

          Ginny snorted.  "See?  Something you don't know."

          "And when does this 'world's greatest ice cream parlor' close, hmm?" Draco languidly sat up and stretched his long arms.

          "Eight-thirty."

          Draco glanced at the grand clock behind him and chuckled.  "Well that was about twenty minutes ago."

          "Like I said," Ginny grinned.  "I'm a witch.  Which means. . ."  She drew out her wand and waved it absently through the air.  "Alohamora."

          Both of his slim blond eyebrows shot up at this, and he gazed at her with frank shock for a few heavy seconds of silence.  "Breaking and entering."

          "Only if you look at it that way," Ginny replied easily.  "Don't tell me big bad Draco Malfoy is afraid."

          He leaned back against the sofa cushion, eyeing her with a mixture of admiration and surprise.  "Well well well," he remarked.  "Who would've thought—Weasley's got a rebel bone in her."

          "Well?" Ginny ignored him impatiently.  "In or out."

          "Bring it on, weasel."

~*~

          Malfoy Manor was eerily quiet.

          Draco shifted uneasily in his taut leather chair, glancing at the crackling fire before sweeping his gaze across the dimly lit room.  His mother had returned to the summer home, a grand estate just off the coast of Wales, and Ginny was off somewhere—with Sebastian, he presumed.  

          Ah, Ginny.

          Ice cream had been, frankly put, an interesting experience.  Not to say he enjoyed eating with Muggle-lovers, but there was more to Ginny Weasley than she let on, that was for certain.  Shaking his head, he squinted and tried focusing on the voluminous book spread out before him.

          _Why can't I concentrate?_

          His hair.  Draco smoothed an errant lock away from his face, wetted from his shower.  But returning to his reading, he found that indeed, it was not just his hair.  His thoughts were drifting, and to Weasley, no less.  She had saved his butt, had sealed the deal he had so coveted, had even brought some form of entertainment to his life, but still—she was a _Weasley_.  That was what bothered him, then, her unchangeable Weasley-ness.  

No, it was more the fact that he didn't hate her.  

Not even one bit. 

"Fuck," Draco swore, standing up and letting the book tumble absently to the floor.  Where was the damned woman, anyways?

          He strolled down the torch-lit hallway, turning at a set of marble stairs and traipsing up to the second floor.  In the cavernous halls her voice echoed faintly, and he moved towards it, towards her.

          Sebastian's room.

          Gently, Draco pushed the door open, but just a crack.  He was about to snap at her for taking so long when he spotted her sitting quietly on his son's bed, talking softly and stroking his hair with a strange tenderness.  In curiosity, he stopped.

          "And then when she least expected it," Ginny whispered, "Her prince came."

          "On a horse?" Sebastian murmured sleepily.

          Ginny nodded.  "A big, beautiful white horse with a mane of silver.  And he rescued the princess from all the troubles she had, and they lived happily ever after."

          The room was silent but for the incessant ticking of the clock, and Ginny leaned forward to kiss the child lightly on the forehead.  Watching her unexpected gesture, Draco felt a pang of what could've been jealousy, but he pushed it away as he stood rooted to the ground and studied her with intense fascination.  As if sensing his presence, she turned slightly, brown eyes large and illuminated in the dark room.

          Draco cleared his throat.  "Hi."

Her lips curved into a small, pleased smile.  "You came to say goodnight to Sebastian?"  Her voice was so hopeful even he didn't have the heart to reject her, and instead shrugged.

          "Yeah, that.  And you were taking a hell of a long time," Draco said.  He stepped into the room.  "A prince, huh?"

          Even in the shadows he saw her cheeks flame into a red blush, and she glanced away.  "A girl can dream, can't she?"

          Gingerly, Draco seated himself on the other side of Sebastian.  "It's late, Weasley."

          "I know," she replied with a tinge of embarrassment.  "I'll—I'll leave right now."

          He glanced up at her with piercing silver eyes.  "If you want, you can stay."

          She blinked.

          "You know," Draco smirked at her surprise, "In one of the guest rooms.  It _is_ late and Merlin knows your building will be closed."

          The smile she flashed him was both startled and shy.  "I'd. . .like that."

~*~

          Draco was sitting on the undoubtedly Slytherin bed when she stepped out of the shower.

          "Malfoy!" Ginny shrieked, tightening her towel.  "What is with you and finding me right out of the shower?"

          He rolled his eyes impatiently at her.  "Don't flatter yourself into thinking that I _want_ to see half-naked Weasleys."

          Glaring at him, Ginny folded her arms across her chest.  "What do you want?"

          Without a word, Draco held out a bundle of clothes.  "I thought you would need something to sleep in."

          Her eyes softened.  "Really?  But that's so. . .considerate."

          He simply smirked.

          Unwrapping the package, she saw why.  They were large pyjamas, a buttoned shirt and loose pants.  Large, green pyjamas, with little silver serpents all over them and an ostentatious M emblazoned on the pocket of the top.  "If you think I'm wearing these. . ." Ginny began darkly, not in the least humored as Draco began chuckling.

          "I happen to like them, Weasley," Draco said, mocking hurt.

          "No shit," Ginny muttered, holding them out at an arm's length.  It did not take away from the obnoxious proclamation of Slytherin, not in the least.  "I'm not wearing these, Malfoy, end of story."

          He arched a blond eyebrow at her in unhidden amusement.  "Oh trust me, you'll wear them, Weasley."

          "I will not," she tipped her chin defiantly.  "What makes you so damn sure?"

          Draco shrugged, causing the folds of his elegant black robes to ripple along his shoulders, and then backed away towards the door.  "You can wear them," he said with a devilish smirk, "or you can sleep in the nude."

          Her mouth dropped open.

          "Sweet dreams, _Weasley_."

          The door clicked behind him noisily.

          Ginny scowled at the closed door for some time before she reverted her insulted gaze to the much too green pajamas.  She sighed, reluctantly changing into them, and then climbed under the covers to the refuge of sleep.

~ End of Chapter 6

A/N* so there we are, the promised chapter 6.  NO CLIFFIE!  HA!  I'll work furiously on chapter 7, I promise, and it will up ASAP.  And Robin…welcome to the dark side…of D/G!


	7. Rows and Boats

A/N* I'm so sorry it's taken me so long but the teachers have been total complete SADISTS and I've had no time at all to write.  But it IS finished, and it IS posted, so enjoy.  And review.

Props to Priscilla for awesome beta work.

And thanks to everyone who's stuck with me through this story, and my other ones. Muah!  I love you guys.

Chapter 7. Rows and Boats

          "Ron, I really don't think this is a good idea," Hermione said dubiously as Ron reached for the intricate brass knocker.  "You have no proof that she's here."

          He sent her a dry glare before letting the heavy metal serpent fall against the polished wood of Malfoy's front door.  "Where else would she be?"  He demanded hotly.  "She was not supposed to leave yesterday.  Malfoy's back in town.  She missed a day of work.  End of story."

          Hermione sighed.

          "I bet he's tortured her," Ron said stubbornly.  "I bet he's holding her prisoner right this minute."

          She eyed the grand mansion with both skepticism and admiration.  "I don't know about that, Ron.  Malfoy could've changed.  It's been years since Hogwarts you know.  Years since we've seen him."

          "Best years of my life," Ron grunted.  "I didn't miss that prat one bit."

          "I'm with you there," Hermione agreed.  "I'm just saying you shouldn't be jumping to conclusions.  She could be home right now, sleeping while we barge in on Malfoy."

          Impatiently, Ron slammed his fist against the door.  "See?  He's not answering, Herm.  He's up to something."

          She glared at her fiancé.  "_You _are being entirely irrational," Hermione scolded.  "It's 6 AM and it's Saturday. _Nobody_ is going to be answering their door."

          "Well I'm not leaving until he explains to me what he did with Ginny," Ron said defiantly.

          "And if he hasn't done anything?" Hermione pressed.

          "Then I suppose she's just off somewhere all drunk again," Ron replied lightly.  "Which is better than whatever Malfoy could do."

          "Ron—"

          Ignoring her patronizing tone, he raised his arm once more, pounding furiously.  "Open up, you ferret!" He yelled.  "I know you're in there."

          The door swung open.

          "About time!" Ron roared.  "What the bloody hell took you so long—" He was silenced as Hermione pinched his forearm very painfully.  Glaring at the brunette, he massaged his arm and directed his gaze back at the man in the doorway, who was, now that he actually looked at him, decidedly not Malfoy.  It could have been Malfoy, Ron told himself weakly, if Malfoy had shrunk a few inches, gained a few pounds, and dyed his hair black.  It very well could have been Malfoy.

          "I'm sorry," Hermione said politely.  "Is Mr. Malfoy home?"

          The man, who was presumably the butler, raised both eyebrows in a condescending manner that well suited the family he served.  "I believe you mean Malfoy junior, Master Draco?"

          "Yes," Hermione affirmed primly.

          "Yeah," Ron grumbled.

          "He is," The butler informed them snidely.  "But I highly doubt he would wish to be woken up for those of your kind."

          "On the contrary, I don't think he would mind," Ron insisted.

          "He would," The butler snarled.  "End of discussion.  I will not disturb his sleep for a—a—degenerate like you."

          "Why you—" Ron began heatedly.

          "_He _already is awake," came a pompous voice that the three of them recognized all too well.  Hermione tightened her grip on Ron's arm, and they both tensed as a blond head appeared in the doorway.

          There was a flicker of surprise on Draco's face as he took in the couple, and he stared for a split second before falling into his familiar smirk.  "Well, well, well," He chuckled, only there was no warmth in his voice.  "Look at what we have here."

          "Master Malfoy," the butler started.

          "It's fine," Draco said, though the gleam in his eyes indicated that it clearly was not.  "You're dismissed." 

          "Yes, sir."

          Draco turned his attention to Ron now, the arrogant sneer never leaving his lips, and raked his disapproving silver gaze over his clothes.  "Weasley.  Haven't changed a bit, I see."

          "Malfoy," Ron forced out between gritted teeth.

          He glanced at Hermione.  "And what's this?  Granger?  My, if it's even possible, you look uglier than you did before."

          "Right back at you, Malfoy," Hermione replied, smiling as courteously as possible, though considering her mood, this came out more like a grimace.

          "Bastard," Ron muttered.

          Draco rolled his eyes.  "That's rich, Weasley, come to my estate and insult me. Weakly insult me, I might add. I have a good mind to throw you out, you know."

          "I wouldn't come to your hideous house unless I had to," Ron snapped.  "So tell me, Malfoy, what the hell did you do with my sister?"

          One of his slender gold eyebrows shot up.  "Your sister?"

          "Yes," Ron said impatiently.  "My sister.  Your child's governess.  Goes by the name of Virginia."

          "I know who your sister is," Draco said in a thoroughly annoyed voice.

          "Good, so where is she?"  Ron nearly yelled.

          Draco leaned his lithe frame against the doorway and crossed his arms leisurely.  "What makes you think I have any idea where littlest weasel is?"

          "So she's not here?" Hermione questioned.

          Draco shrugged.  "Probably not," he said calmly, reaching for the door.  "Well, nice of you to stop by.  I'll be seeing you.  Or if I'm lucky, I won't."

          "Then you wouldn't mind if we checked," Ron spat, swinging his frame into the door and growing livid at Draco's cool composure.

          "I am _not letting Mudblood in my house," Draco sneered._

          Ron lurched forward, fists swinging, but the blond nimbly pushed the door in front of him, and Ron's hand made contact with hard wood.  "Ron," cried Hermione, flinging herself at her fiancé to hold him back.

          "I cannot believe the nerve of him," Ron bellowed.  "He called you—he called you a _mudblood_."

          "Truth hurts, doesn't it?" Draco smirked, and, before any of them could react, swung the door shut with a loud_ bang.  Subsequently, there was another as Ron lunged towards the knob._

          "You are the lowest form of scum on this earth," Ron shouted from outside at the top of his lungs.  "You deserve to be bred in captivity and kept in an underground cage and—"

          "_What_ is going on?" A soft, sleepy voice from the bottom of his grand spiral staircase demanded.  Draco pivoted to see Ginny blinking rapidly, red hair tousled, and dressed in oversized, wrinkled clothes that undoubtedly belonged to him.  From behind him, the massive wood door shook and rattled.

          "Oi, Weasley," Draco grimaced.  "Bad timing."

          She blinked at him again, obviously not quite awake as she stumbled towards him.  "What?  Who's here?"  Before he could stop her, she had swung the door open widely, giving her brother and his fiancée a full view of a very disheveled Ginny, whose dark green nightshirt had become rather unbuttoned throughout the course of her sleep.

          "GINNY?" Ron screamed.

          She started, as if his voice had jolted her into consciousness.  "Ron?" Ginny cried in disbelief.

          "For chrissakes, what the hell are you wearing?" He berated.  "I can see your—AHHHH I do NOT want to see _that_.  I do NOT want HIM to see _that." _

          She flushed immediately, noticing the glimpse of lacy bra peeking out through the folds of her clothes, and struggled to match the buttons valiantly, all the while refusing to meet Draco's eyes.  "I—"

          "How could you?" Ron raged.  "HOW COULD YOU?"

          Ginny glanced at Hermione, who was staring in limp, helpless shock.  "Sorry, Gin," she whispered hoarsely.  "But I think I'm wondering the same thing."

          She fixed the last button and stared defiantly at her brother.  "What?"

          Ron pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at Draco.  "You _tosser."_

          Both Ginny and Draco jumped a tad, looking at the furious redhead in alarm.  "Ron!" Ginny protested.  "It's not like that!"

          "Did you drug her? Is that it?" Ron shrieked.  "I swear to god that if you drugged her, I am going to hex you into the next millennia!"

          "Ron!" Ginny shouted.

          Ron fell silent, but his face remained scarlet as ever.

         "Dra—Malfoy and I did not sleep together," Ginny yelled.  '_At least not last night_.'  She lowered her voice.  "It was late, and I stayed the night.  In a guest room."

          "On a different floor," Draco added snottily.

          Ron peered at them suspiciously.  "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

          "Oh come off it," Ginny snapped.  "And even if I did sleep with Malfoy—" Ron began to protest "—which I_ didn't, but _if_ I did, so what of it?  I'm a grown woman, Ron, I can do as I please."_

          "She's right, you know," Hermione said reasonably, tugging at his shirt.

          Glaring at Draco, Ron yanked Ginny out the door and onto the cold cement steps.  "We're going home, Virginia Weasley, _right now."_

          "Ron—" Ginny started darkly.

          "No buts," Ron bit.  "You have no right to give me any buts right now."  He turned towards Draco.  "She'll be back here in a week, Malfoy.  I think we all need a breather from you."

          "I'm not paying her for that week she's gone," Draco sneered.

          "I'm not going anywhere," Ginny shrieked.  "You can't do this, Ron, I won't—"

          "Bucra Silencio!" Ron ground out, and though her mouth continued to move, there came no sound.  He began to drag her away, and she went, helplessly but struggling nevertheless.

          Hermione watched them for a moment, and then glanced up at Draco.  "I do hope you're happy, _Malfoy," she said angrily._

          "Oh I am, _mudblood_," he answered rather crossly, folding his lean arms once more across his chest and glowering at her.  "I am."

          As Hermione stormed off after the siblings, robes billowing behind her, Ginny turned her head and caught Draco's eyes for an ephemeral moment; brown on gray, soft on hard.  Her eyes were wide and apologetic, a bit pleading yet a bit amused, and to his own chagrin, Draco found himself smiling at her, just a little.  It was but for a split second, the locking of their eyes and the brief understanding that had passed, just a slight nuance in time.

          Only it seemed much, much longer. 

~*~

ONE WEEK LATER

          "It's so big!"

          Draco strode down the long hallway outside his den towards where the quiet hum of conversation could be heard.

          "You're not the first girl to say that," a male voice chuckled, a voice that could only belong to Blaise Zabini.

          "Oh you," the first voice giggled.  Mentally, Draco ran through the list of girls he had met with Blaise, an honestly long list, but couldn't find any that quite matched that high-pitched squeal.

          "You can touch it, you know," Blaise said.

          "Well, it's just so. . .huge and. . ."

          "Zabini," Draco boomed as he rounded the corner and arranged his face into an impassive mask of calm.  "Surprised to see you here."  He was rather relieved to see that they had only been admiring his mother's ostentatious Australian crystal, and smirked at his friend.

          "Morning, Malfoy," Blaise answered cheerily.  He gestured to the stunning raven-haired woman beside him.  "This is. . ."

          "Kendra," the girl supplied.

          "Right," Blaise nodded vigorously.  "Kendra.  Draco, Kendra, Kendra, Draco.  Anyways, she was just leaving."

          Kendra turned her magnificent violet gaze on Draco.  "You live here?"

          Blaise winced.

          "You could put it that way," Draco answered, suppressing a grin as he looked from Blaise to Kendra.

          "It's an amazing house, isn't it?" Kendra went on, unaware of Blaise's extreme unease.  "And Blaise here—" she planted a sugary kiss on his cheek "—is just so kind to let so many people stay in it.  Always the altruist, that's my Blaisy."

          Blaise sent her a tight smile.  "Well I'm sure you can see yourself out?"

          She nodded.  "Oh yes, of course.  You'll owl me?"

          He only grunted as she flounced away, and started glaring deeply at Draco as the blond burst into peals of laughter.  "What," Blaise growled, "is so funny?"

          "Always the altruist," Draco mimicked in a falsetto.  "That's my Blaisy."

          "Oh sod off," he grumbled.

          "I, for one," Draco continued with a large smile, "am rather surprised she knows the meaning of that word."

          Blaise sighed, though allowing a grin.  "Well you have to admit that she was nice looking."

          "Oh very," agreed Draco, "But not completely worth pretending that this was your house."

          A red flush crawled up Blaise's neck.  "Er. . .about that. . ."

          "No worries," Draco waved his hand.  "Though I'm a bit curious as to why, because you don't exactly live in a shack you know."

          "Well," Blaise said uncomfortably.  "Mum is home from Ireland, and you know how she is about—about—"

          "About random shags?" Draco raised his eyebrows.

          Once again, Blaise winced.  "It's just that Mother is kind of nosy, and I hate to think of the scene she would create if she saw me, well, get it on with someone like Kendra."

          The doorbell chimed, and Draco strolled towards his den again.  "Or Allison, or Jennifer, or Michelle, or _Trishelle_, or Cindy, or—"

          Blaise held up a hand.  "I get the point, Malfoy."

          Draco smirked.  "Point being?"

          "That I'm a tosser, right?" Blaise shrugged, and then offered a rueful smile.  "Though I actually did consider a relationship with Trishelle."

          "Master Malfoy?" The butler interrupted them, appearing small and wan at the end of the hall.  "You have a guest."

          Cocking his head at Blaise, Draco turned sharply on his heel.  "Who is it?"

          "Me."

          Ginny's voice reverberated in the empty hall, soft and a little timid, quite reflective of the way she looked.  The warm sunlight flooding into the hall illuminated the copper of her red hair, brought depth to those sparkling brown eyes, and gave her an angelic air that he had never seen upon any woman before.  She was wearing yet another one of her knee-length dresses, this time a light coral shell underneath a cream cardigan that was simply inviting his touch.

          Draco blinked.  "I thought you were gone for a week, Weasley."

          "Actually," she replied with a bright smile, "It has been a week.  How time flies, eh?"

          They fell into an awkward silence then, each staring at the other with what could have been new eyes, both unsure of what to say.  "So," Draco said finally.  "What do you want?"  He was faintly aware of how rude he sounded, but had not the mind nor lack of pride to correct himself.

          "Well, truthfully speaking," Ginny answered.  "I was going to take Sebastian down to the lake, and I was wondering whether you'd want to. . .come."

          "With you?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow.  At her disapproving frown, he coughed.  "Well, I've kind of got a business, er, meeting today."

          "Another business meeting," she repeated.  "Really."

          "Yeah," Draco replied uneasily.

          She rolled her eyes.  "He's your _son."_

          And though he really shouldn't have cared about her opinion of him, though he truthfully did have a business meeting, Draco became quiet with consideration.

"Malfoy?" Ginny pressed after a pause.

"Alright then."

          "Alright?" Ginny echoed in surprise.  "You'll go?"

          He resisted the urge to smirk at her unhidden astonishment.  "He's my _son, remember?"_

"It's not like you've ever listened to me before," Ginny pointed out dryly.

Draco shrugged.  "Just let me call my secretary, and I'll meet you out by the boats."

          Her surprise grew even greater.  "The boats?"

          "Well, if we're going to the lake, we might as well go on the lake, wouldn't you say?" he said reasonably, heading for his office.  "Give me ten minutes, Miss Weasley."

          She only nodded mutely, staring after him with shocked eyes as he sauntered away.

~*~

          On a warm day as it was, the lake was absolutely still.  There was, of course, an occasional breeze that ruffled the waters, but for most part the three of them were treated to a calm tranquility.  

They were settled on the lolling green hill just overlooking Malfoy Manor's grand lake, a green checkered blanket spread out underneath the quaint picnic basket.  Sebastian was situated in the first waves of the water, hands digging through shallow sands as Ginny watched him carefully.

          "You know, Weasley," Draco said, reaching for more of the biscuits.  "These are actually quite good.  Did you make them yourself?"

          "Part of them," Ginny confessed.  "All Weasley women are taught to make delectable biscuits.  Your cook prepared the rest."

          Silence.

          "Did you just compliment me?" Ginny asked suddenly.

          "No.  Pass the butter."

          She grinned.  "Yes you did.  Admit it, Draco Malfoy, the littlest Weasel isn't that bad after all."

          He grinned back at her.  "You do realize that you just degraded yourself, Weasley?"

          "On the contrary," she objected, placing the butter gently in his palm.  "I wouldn't say that 'littlest weasel' is such an insult.  Weasel, yes, but since you refer to my family as the weasels anyhow, I'm not going to feel insulted."

          His grin grew wider, and she couldn't help noting how really very good-looking he was when he honestly smiled.  "Oh yes," Draco agreed.  "Since your family is so honorable, what with that wonderful, temperate Ronald Weasley."

          She blushed visibly.  "Oh gods.  I was hoping you'd forgotten about that incident."

          Draco spread the yellow slab across his biscuit.  "No no, that was way to bloody humorous to forget," he chuckled.

          "He's not usually like that," Ginny mumbled, digging through the basket until she found a chocolate frog.

          "Hey," Draco smirked.  "I spent seven years with your brother, you know.  And I can tell you very honestly that he is, usually, like that.  But. . ."

          "But?"  She prompted as she unwrapped the frog.

          "But I'm not going to hold that against you," he finished.  "You can't help your brother's insanity."

Her face softened.

"Although I will hold the fact that you're a Weasley to boot, and—"

          She chucked a biscuit at his face then, and he shut up immediately.  "You are such a pig," Ginny grumbled.

          Draco laughed—actually laughed.  "Now you've gone and ruined a perfectly edible biscuit."

          About to reply, Ginny suddenly stopped as Sebastian crawled a bit deeper into the water.  Draco followed her gaze.  "You care an awful lot about him, don't you?"  Draco asked softly.

          She met his eyes, cloudy with emotion.  "I love him," Ginny told him firmly.  "As if—as if he were my own son."

          "Mmm," Draco said pensively.  "I imagine then that it must be quite difficult knowing that he's actually a Malfoy."

          "How so?" She asked distractedly.

          "Well, a bloodline so much better than yours," Draco began, but she swatted him on the arm.  Hard.

          "Must you always be a prat?" Ginny scowled.  "We were getting along fine, you know.  Then you had to go and make some half-arsed comment."

          "I missed my meeting," Draco grumped.  "And I'm tired.  Blaise spent the night last, and I didn't get much sleep."

          Ginny stared at him, her mouth a round 'o' of alarm.  "He spent the night?"

          "Not like that," Draco snapped at her.  "With his newest conquest.  Kendra, I think her name was.  Anyways, you can imagine the horrid noises coming from their room."

          "I'd rather not, actually," Ginny said, wrinkling her nose.  He smirked at her once more, some deprecating remark on the tip of his tongue—it was just that easy—and she clapped her palm across his mouth.  "Stop." Ginny said.  "Tell you what, Malfoy."

          "What."

          "Don't be so cheeky," she scolded.  "I was actually going to propose a massage.  It used to calm Ron down marvelously."

          He shot her a sour, disbelieving look and she sighed loudly.  "You aren't serious, are you?" Draco asked.

          With a groan, she shoved him a bit until she was seated directly behind him, and then rose on her haunches so her arms were at the perfect height to his shoulders.

          And nice shoulders they were, she thought.  Broad and lean from years of Quidditch, they tapered into a slender waist that she could just wrap her arms around and. . .

          "Are you going to do something or not?" Draco's petulant voice crashed into her train of thought.  "Because you aren't helping my stress, you know."

          "Oh," Ginny started.  "Right."  Silently, she lifted her hands to the nape of his neck, ignoring the sparks that tingled all through her own arms at the contact, and gently kneaded the muscle there.

          He couldn't prove it, not to her nor to himself, but something about those fingers was startlingly familiar.  The mere fact made him both vastly uncomfortable and guilty for indulging in their soothing touch, while his brain screamed ten thousand conflicting commands, Draco found himself immobilized as his tension ebbed away under her delicate hands.

         "You're tense," Ginny said softly from behind him, never ceasing her gentle ministrations on his shoulders.  Her breath tickled his ear, and a most unwelcome ripple shot down his spine, the kind he hadn't felt since he was a teenager.  And he knew then that he didn't—shouldn't—respond to her in the way his heart had, his mind a jumble as he willed the butterflies dancing in his stomach to disappear.

          His only agenda now being to halt whatever moment he was experiencing with this—this _Weasley, he turned abruptly.  Only, it was not the wisest of moves because in that instant, Draco found himself inches from the littlest weasel, her doe brown eyes big with surprise and her hands, now limp, still on his shoulders due to the alacrity of his movement._

          They were so close he could feel her feminine warmth radiating in the crisp air, and he opened his mouth in preparation to expel some snide remark that would cause her to jump far away from him.  But there came none, only ragged breathing left his lips as his cloudy eyes fell to the velvety pink tip of her tongue, just visible through her parted lips.  One of her fingers curled around the silky strands brushing the nape of his neck, and he involuntarily found himself wondering if she tasted like the chocolate frog she had just eaten.  He knew he should have pushed her away—bloody hell, he shouldn't even have agreed to let her _touch him in the first place, but all reason flew out of his head as he stared down at her, frozen with desire._

          He lowered his head a little, hesitating just millimeters from her lips.  What was one kiss, really?  All of a sudden, it didn't matter that she was a Gryffindor, a Weasley, a bloody _Potter fan; it didn't matter that she was his very own antithesis, or that her brothers would make a pie out of him if they ever saw him in such close proximity to her lips.  It didn't matter that her quirky sense of humor and wide, honest smile had been bothering him for weeks now, and it didn't matter that he could never have her, not in a million years, because it was just one kiss; and if that one kiss was going to be the end of him, then so be it._

          Her eyes had slipped half-closed, the long lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, but as she tilted her chin, she accidentally brought her nose against his and they flew open again.  He had never seen such blatant need in a woman before as he did in that moment, had never quite witnessed that delectable combination of innocence and desire that was reflected in her soft, dark eyes, and the last of his protests evaporated.

          Just one kiss. . .

          Her upper lip was nearly brushing his now, and they both closed their eyes, half in anticipation, half in what could have been fear.  There were no more alarm bells ringing in his head because his sole thought was of her lips, and how very un-Malfoy it was of him to want to devour them without any consequence in mind.

          One kiss. . .

          "Father!  Miss Weasley!  Look what I found!"

          He jumped immediately, cold where her hands had been, and ran a hand through his hair, miraculously keeping his cool.  He got to his feet in jerky movements, and from beside him so did she.  Studying Ginny surreptitiously, he saw with an odd satisfaction that a darkening blush was reddening her face.  In that moment, her perplexed eyes fell upon him and they both turned their heads away, pretending that neither had been staring at the other.

          Sebastian skidded to a stop before them, a bright smile lighting his small face.  "Look," he said, holding out in his palm a shiny pink shell turned into itself.  "Isn't it wicked?"

          "Very," replied Draco in a calm that shocked both Ginny and himself.

          "Beautiful," she agreed, somewhat breathlessly.

          Furrowing his brow, Sebastian cocked his head at Ginny.  "Am I late?"  He asked in a tiny voice.

          "No no," Ginny assured quickly.  "You came just on time.  Just in the nick of time."

          Their eyes met again, hers a mixture of emotions and his simply impassive.  "Just in the nick of time," Draco said slowly.  "In that case, you should have come earlier, actually.  But then again, don't all regretful people say that?"

          She tore her gaze from his, and they all heard her sharp intake of breath.  "We should go," she said after a moment, struggling to keep her voice steady.  "It's getting late."  She took Sebastian's hand gently, and, almost unable to help herself, glanced at Draco once more, for guidance, for clue, for question.

          He smirked at her, that dreadful Malfoy smirk, and sauntered away as if nothing had transpired between the two of them, nothing at all.

          Though what exactly had, he wasn't even quite sure. 

~*~

          Forward, back, forward, back, forward, back.

          Ginny let out a small sigh, intensely aware of how uncomfortable both she and Draco were, crammed alongside Sebastian in the small rowboat.  He hadn't said much to her since they started around the lake, and she was beginning to think he had just put the entire awkward kiss that wasn't behind them.  Maybe things would be normal again—as normal as they could ever be.

"You're not rowing right."  

          Draco's voice cut through the thick tension between them and Ginny glanced up, startled.  "Well I'm sorry," she replied slightly sarcastically, "But I haven't exactly been take rowing lessons since I was seven years old, you know."

          "Of course not," Draco shot back.  "How would your parents pay for it?"

          Maybe not.

          "Look!" Sebastian cried excitedly, pointing to something in the water.  "A fish!"

          "Don't be silly," grumbled Draco.  "There are no fish in this lake."

          "I swear I saw I fish," Sebastian shouted.  "I saw it!  It was right there!"  He leaned forward and extended his arms wildly.

          "Sebastian, be careful," Ginny warned.

          "You haven't taught my son to swim yet, have you," Draco observed with a sneer.

          "Well it's not a crime," she retorted.  "I can't swim either."

          "I'm sure you can't do a lot of things," was his smug reply.

          She swung around to glare at him, just as Sebastian fell out of the boat with a loud splash.  "Miss Weasley!" he screamed, flailing his arms.  "Miss Weasley, Miss Weas—"  

          And then his little blond head disappeared under the murky waters.

          "Shit," Ginny muttered, instantly stripping off her sweater.  She clawed at her dress, yanking it over her head with a grunt while Draco moved to his feet, and dove headfirst into the water.

          "Ginny!" Draco shouted without thinking.  "You can't swim!"

          "Sebastian," she yelled, bringing the sputtering boy above water and treading furiously.  "Oh gods.  Don't ever do that again, Sebastian."

          She handed the wailing boy to Draco, who easily hoisted him back into the boat and wrapped her cardigan around his trembling shoulders.  "It's freezing," Sebastian cried piteously.

          "Come on," he urged Ginny.  "You're going to catch a bloody cold if you stay in that water."

          Still glaring at him, she rested her arms on the side of the boat, making well sure that the waterline was above her breasts.  "Wouldn't that make you happy?" She bit.

          "Oh come off it," Draco sighed in exasperation.  He clasped her arms gently, jumping at how cold the skin was to his touch, and yanked at her.

          "Malfoy!" she yelped as he pulled her up suddenly, and the upper half of her body was sprawled across the boat, sprawled across him.  She was then all too aware of her thin cotton bra, barely containing her chest, which was heaving above his, and struggled to push him away.

          Only instead, she ended up tipping the boat, and they all went under with loud yells.

~End of Chapter 7~

A/N* Muahahaha not much of a cliffie.  But o well.  So review!


	8. Sine Qua Non

A/N*   I know it's taken me quite a while to spin out my other chapters, but with winter break and all I've had a chance to catch up on my writing, so here's chapter 8!  I am, by the way, overwhelmed by all your responses and reviews, you have _no_ idea at all.  I started fanfiction in May, never thinking it would turn into anything, and I'm so grateful for all of you who have stuck with me through my writing, and I really wish I had the time to individually thank you.  But don't think that because I'm not, I don't appreciate reviewers—really, without you, I wouldn't be writing.  So yeah, Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to all of you, and even if you don't celebrate Christmas, here's an especially D/Gfied chapter for you.  I didn't think I'd be able to upload by Christmas Day, but XOXO to my speedy beta Priscilla.  Love you all!  

Chapter 8. Sine Qua Non

          For the first time in his life, Draco Malfoy was holding the teapot.

          It was not to say that he had never had tea before—the mere thought was ridiculous—but for all twenty-seven years of his life, he had never once been on the serving end.  He didn't have any problems pouring tea, of course, as any bloody idiot like _Crabbe_ could pour tea, he just found it disconcerting to be performing a task he had relied on servants for, and even more so because he was doing it for a Weasley.

          She watched him with curious brown eyes, nestled in a thick swatch of green down comforter, and suppressed a smile as he gritted his teeth in annoyance.  "A little trouble there?" Ginny asked sweetly.

          Draco glared at her.  "If I were you," he retorted.  "I would just shut up before somebody pours scalding tea all over you."

          "I'm not too scared," she disagreed cheekily.  "After all, it's amazing you even know how to hold the thing."

          He handed her a porcelein saucer triumphantly, and she took it with a gracious smile.  "Anyways," Draco said, "You're lucky I'm even pouring you anything.  Hell, you're lucky I'm letting you contaminate my sofa."

          A few weeks ago, she would have taken a comment like that to heart, but hearing the lilt of tease in his voice she simply beamed at him, snuggled deeper into the blankets he had surprisingly provided her, and sipped the tea.  He moved across the room to set down the teapot and she followed his easy elegance, admiring the smooth lines of his body and how his hair turned slightly gold when dampened.  _Stop staring! Ginny commanded herself as he turned suddenly, catching her admiring stare and grinning as she blushed deeply._

          "You know," Draco said, languidly settling himself at the end of the sofa.  "That was stupid of you, Weasley.  You should have just gotten in the damn boat and stayed there.  Instead you risked the health of myself and Sebastian."  He smirked.  "And, of course, yourself."

          She turned her face away.  "You don't have to remind me."

"Weasley," Draco said in a low voice.

          Almost reluctantly, she met his unreadable silver gaze.  "What?"

          He hesitated visibly.  "Nothing," he said after a moment's pause.

          Ginny let out a sigh, and then brought the cup to her lips once more.  "You're right, though," she admitted quietly.  "It was incredibly insane of me.  That water was so bloody cold.  If anything happened to Sebastian, I don't know what I'd do."

          "Hey," Draco said, surprisingly serious.  "It was an accident."

          Setting the tea down on a small table beside her, her eyes remained focused on something away from the blond, and he reached out to cup her chin.  At his gentle touch she nearly jumped, but instead grew accustomed to the flutters in her stomach, aching for the tactile feeling of his soft hands.  

          "And anyhow," Draco continued, dropping his hand.  "While he's perfectly fine and asleep, you're the one who looks like you're getting sick, so you'll be plenty sorry in time."

          Feeling bereft at the loss of his touch, she could smile at him weakly.  "Pitiful, isn't it?" Ginny chuckled.  "I never knew my immune system was so horrid.  One little dip in a lake and I'm here with. . .pneumonia or something."

          "I highly doubt it's pneumonia," Draco said dryly.  "And at any rate, pneumonia isn't fatal."  He paused.  "Unfortunately."

          She offered him a crooked grin.  "Oh but admit it, you'd miss me if I died, Draco Malfoy."

          "I wouldn't be so sure," Draco smirked.  "Though I will admit that it would be a pain in my arse to find another nanny that Sebastian likes."

          Ginny laughed.  It was a laugh that warmed Draco in a way he hadn't thought possible, and he couldn't do anything by grin back at her—one would have said he was grinning stupidly had he not been a Malfoy.  

"Then again," Draco continued, "It would probably be best that such a young Malfoy not be around a Weasley too much, I mean, who knows, he might—" And then, still laughing, she shoved him, hard.

He reached out to block her hands but somehow ended up drawing her close, and instead, Ginny landed atop his chest in a tangle of cotton comforter and damp hair.  

And they were suddenly in an extremely close proximity once more, her face growing solemn as she gazed down at him.  His hands were on her elbows, the pads roughened and calloused as he unconsciously rubbed gentle circles into her skin.  "You seem to be feeling better," Draco remarked after a pregnant pause, the only sensible words that came to his mind for the moment.

          "I am," she replied softly, nervously.

          "Does this mean that I won't have to pour you tea anymore?" Draco raised an eyebrow, trying his best not to be unnerved by her closeness.

          "You don't have to do anything," Ginny said, involuntarily glancing down at his lips.  

"Oh?"

"For instance," she went on, shocked at her own audacity as she lowered her body to rest her head against his shoulder, "You don't have to let me stay here.  Like this."

          His breath hitched as her lips grazed the thin material of his gray shirt.  A part of him knew precisely how wrong it was, and how conspicuous their position was, and that part also knew how very torturous a death he would suffer if any of the Weasley brothers walked in.  The heightened security of Malfoy Manor was really no consolation compared to that thought.

          But there was another part of him, a part Draco had not seen surfaced before, that couldn't help noting how perfectly she fit into his arms, how the sweet scent of her damp hair tickled his nose, how right she felt lying atop him—though technically atop inches of comforter that was atop Draco.  And in the final moments of his indecision, he had nearly been ready to push her away when she whispered in a voice husky with sleep, "Draco?"

          How right his name sounded from her lips.

          "Yes?" Draco said, quietly as if not to disturb her too much.

          "Thank you."

          "For?"

          There came no answer from her, and when he craned his neck to look at her face he found with great wariness that she was fast asleep.

~*~

          When Ginny awoke, it had darkened.  Through the majestic windows, she could see the moon bright against the night sky, and she stretched out on the couch, yawning.  The fire was still flickering, she discovered, and someone had rearranged her blankets to fit neatly below her chin.

          Draco.

          She turned to see him sprawled out on the massive loveseat across from her, obviously asleep.  When he had fallen asleep she was not particularly sure, and as she watched him with a small smile upon her face she suddenly remembered sleeping atop him.  Her face flamed at the memory, and she gingerly crept towards him.

His head was turned to the left, hair not yet mussed and chest heaving with every breath.  Gently, Ginny seated herself beside him, roving her eyes over the unblemished porcelain skin and wondering how she had failed to notice him at Hogwarts.   As she thought about the strange flicker in his piercing eyes as he had stared at her, and an overwhelming urge to touch his cheek washed over her and she lifted a hand to brush back the one errant strand of silver blond that had escaped its pomade grasp.

Draco started.  "Go away," he mumbled.

Withdrawing her hand, Ginny bit her lip and watched as he fell back into deep slumber.  "Draco," she whispered.

          He made an odd sound at the back of his throat.

          It was then she noticed that one of his shirt buttons had come undone, and in an inexplicable fit of maternal instincts she reached to refasten it.  Her head bent close to his torso, she was almost finished with the large silver button when a tickle arose in the back of her nose.  Loudly, she sneezed, and Draco jumped.

"Er," Ginny cleared her throat, pulling back quickly when he squeezed his eyes shut as if he had a headache.

Lazily, he opened one eye to see her blushing furiously beside him, and let a slow smirk weave itself into his face.  "Well, well," he said.  "You finally woke up."

          Ginny frowned.  "Speak for yourself, Malfoy."

          He glanced at the elegant grandfather clock beside him.  "It's been nearly five hours, you know."

          With a sigh of resignation, Ginny smiled.  "I should be getting home, shouldn't I?"

          Draco cocked his head and gazed at her quizzically.  "Or you could stay," he suggested calmly even as her own heart began racing.  "I do owe you dinner."

          "Surprised you remembered," Ginny responded wryly.

          "Oh I never forget," Draco said.  "But I do expect that you need to owl your, er, brother so that he doesn't think I've kidnapped you for the sole purpose of debauchery and shagging?"

          "I probably should," Ginny agreed, her voice neutral to cover the blush threatening to overtake her face and climbing off the loveseat.  Her eyes twinkled.  "And then I'll go wake Sebastian.  What are you asking the house elves to prepare tonight?"

          "Who said I'm asking the house elves to prepare anything?" Draco retorted.  "Goodness, Weasley, just because I'm filthy rich and devastatingly handsome doesn't mean I'm entirely incompetent."

          "Oh no," Ginny shook her head.  "Not entirely.  You did, after all, pour tea."

          "Right," Draco snickered, feeling surprisingly light in reminiscence of the events that had passed.  "You're never going to let me forget that, are you?"

          "You claim you never forget anyhow," Ginny said softly.  "Shall Sebastian and I meet you in, say, the Eastern dining room at seven, then?"

          "Let's say seven-thirty," Draco said.  "Even a God couldn't prepare dinner in that short a time."

          "Deal."  With one last smile, she turned and strode toward the bedrooms.

~*~

          7:35.

"Last dish," Draco muttered.  With grace he set down the large porcelain platter on his grand oak dining table and stood back, surveying his work with immodest admiration.  Since a child, Narcissa had reared him to be refined in the arts of culinary skills, insisting that it gave him an edge over other spoiled children, and insisting that it was with cooking skills that Lucius had stood out above the rest of her suitors.  _Not that I'm trying to court Ginny or anything_, Draco reminded himself.

          Ginny.  The name rolled off his tongue so easily, too easily.  He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was something about the way she looked at him with those wide eyes, something about the way she smiled when he smirked at her, something about the way a little note of both pure content and anxiety crept into her soft laugh.  It was entirely too unnatural.  And of course Draco couldn't pinpoint it, nor could it actually confront her with his observations, because a part of him insisted it was simply a figment of his imagination, his paranoia.  Shaking his head again, Draco reached for one of the tall candles beside him.  She was a Weasley, he was a Malfoy, and it scared him to think that he could be looking at her with anything other than disgust.

          However, what scared him the most was not the fact that all this was actually occurring, it was more the fact that he couldn't altogether say he disliked it.

          "Wow."

          He turned to see her framed in the doorway, supple coral lips in a wide 'o' of surprise and face illuminated by the flickering candlelight.  Her hair curled in gentle wisps around her face, and the look in her eyes was of surprised delight.  Since their last meeting, Ginny had changed into yet another dress but in the dim light she was utterly feminine, utterly radiant, utterly beautiful.

          Ginny stared at him speechlessly, moving her stunned gaze from the elegant foods to his wary silver eyes.  The candle he had just lit glowed against his light complexion, softening his angles and shimmering his hair with an iridescent sparkle.  And the corner of his lips lifted into that familiar smirk, only he couldn't quite manage it, and it came out more a gentle, questioning smile that simultaneously sent a shiver down her spine and melted the last nerves in her knees.

          "Oh Draco," she whispered, before she could stop herself.

          He simply gazed back at her, calmly, placidly, hoping she didn't notice his hand tremble as he set the candle down coolly.  "You're late," was all he said.

          Ginny blinked.  "You weren't ready anyhow."

          Taking a step forward, he looked down at her with an almost quizzical expression and in return, she offered a small smile.  "No," he finally said.  "I wasn't.  But near it."

          "Very near," she replied, breathless from his proximity.

          "I just wanted things to be perfect," he went on, eyes dark.  "I was taught to do everything perfect."

          "It is," she near murmured.  "It's more perfect than you could ever imagine."

          A long stretch of quiet passed as they stood, limp, neither willing to tear their eyes away.

         "Draco, I—"

          "Father!"  Sebastian appeared from behind Ginny, startling them both for the second time that day as he skidded into the room and glanced around with amazement.  "But I thought you couldn't make food!"

          Draco was the one to glance away, smiling at his son.  "Now who told you that?"

          "Mother," Sebastian replied absently, amber eyes still amazed.

          Draco snorted.  "It figures."

          Sebastian simply beamed, a wide, happy smile that rendered him much like someone Draco couldn't exactly place.  "Father," he asked in his quiet voice.  "Does this mean you'll eat with me?"

          Draco merely chuckled in return, but Ginny caught the fleeting glance of pleasant surprise that flickered in his normally impassive eyes.  "Yes, son," he answered; it was the first time she had heard him address him that way yet.

          "Draco," Ginny said softly, placing a hand on his arm.  "Let's eat, shall we?"

          "Yeah," Sebastian chimed.  "I'm starving."

          His eyes still twinkling, Draco pulled out one of the exquisite polished chairs for Ginny.  "I'm honored," Ginny laughed.  "Not only am I allowed to eat at the real table, but a Malfoy has just been—what is it, chivalrous?"

          "And towards you, no less," Draco agreed congenially, much to her startlement.  "Don't worry, I'm writhing inside.  But I have to set a good example for the little Malfoy, you know."

          The pride in his voice as he mentioned Sebastian didn't go undetected by Ginny, and set off a strange palpitating in her chest.

          "Harriet," he called, and a small house elf scurried in.

          "You can cook, but you won't serve," Ginny observed wryly.

          "House elves are here to serve."  He cocked his head at her with a smug half-smile.  "And she's aptly named Harriet, too," he said.  "Harry-it."

          In response, Ginny shook her head but couldn't suppress the grin from her face.  "You're a sick, sick man, has anyone ever told you that, Draco Malfoy?"

          "Oh sure," Draco replied.  "Your brother, time and again."  He paused.  "And of course, Harry Potter.  And that—" he made a face here "—little mudblood, Granger."

          She was about to chastise him for calling Hermione a mudblood when he added, "But somehow it sounded different coming from you."

          _What the hell was that supposed to mean?_

          She chose not to mull over it, instead nodded graciously as the house-elf ladled steaming soup into her plate.

          "So," Ginny said after a few moments of peaceful silence as they ate.  "What are Sebastian's plans for tomorrow?"

          "Actually," Draco raised an eyebrow.  "Sebastian won't be here tomorrow."

          "Not here?" A note of panic rose in her voice.

          "I get to go to Grandmum's for a week," Sebastian supplied.

          "Oh," Ginny said, trying to hide her disappointment.  "I suppose that means I don't need to be here for a week, then?"

          Draco studied her.  "I suppose that does."

          She smiled, weakly.  "Was this all decided while I was away?"

          "While your brother had you locked in," Draco confirmed with great amusement.

          "I'm almost disappointed," Ginny said, only half joking.  "I was gone for a week, and when I come back I find out I'll be gone for another week."

          "You'll miss me much, won't you?" Sebastian asked.

          "Very much," she agreed.  And met Draco's eyes.

          He was chewing, with a rather thoughtful look in his eyes.  "Won't be the same without you.  You'll have plenty of spare time on your hands, I imagine."

          "Actually," Ginny said, feeling oddly foolish, "I work part time at the Ministry."

          Draco raised in eyebrow in genuine surprise.  "I didn't know they allowed Aurors to work part time."

          "They don't," Ginny paused.  "I work as a librarian."

          Draco coughed loudly, doing quite a lousy job covering his snort of laughter.

          She glared at him.  "I happen to like being around their books, you know," she said.  "And anyhow, I'm surprised you even know about the rules of Aurors."

          He blinked, raising startled eyes to meet hers, and she immediately wished she hadn't spoken.  Hurt briefly flickered across his features, so brief she could have imagined it, and was quickly replaced by a snarl.  "Oh yes," he agreed in a deeply sarcastic voice.  "Since I'm such a death eater."

          She could not meet his gaze as he said this, and glanced at Sebastian instead.  "I didn't—I hadn't meant—I—"

          "I'm sure," was all he said, but all warmth had disappeared from his voice.

          There was no need to look in a mirror for Ginny to tell that she was blushing ferociously.  "Sorry," she mumbled.  "Guess I'm just so used to the whole Hogwarts thing, the same old barbs."  She glanced up, looking wholly miserable.

          Draco took another bite, face unreadable.  "Was I that horrid?"

          "And why are you so quick to assume that you've changed?" She teased.

          He glared at her, and she fell silent.  Obviously, she thought with an inward wince, he was not in the mood to receive light insults.

          "Father?"

          "Eat your food," Draco commanded darkly.

          "I wasn't serious," Ginny interjected.  "Honestly."

          His stare grew even stormier.  "What you say," he told her coldly, "Really does not matter to me."

          "But it does matter," she persisted.  "Just the other day, I told Harry—"

          His fork clattered loudly.  "Do not," Draco hissed, "Ever mention Harry Potter in my house."

          "Draco—" Ginny began.

Harriet scurried in then, a rolled parchment in hand.  "Master Draco," she squealed.  "You have an owl, Master Draco."

Draco glared at Ginny before wiping his fingers and reaching for the parchment.  "Who's it from?"

"The big gray owl, sir."

"Ah," He said coolly, nodding and smoothing the sheet with slender hands.  "It's from work, then."

          "Father," Sebastian said quietly.  "Do you have to leave again?"

          Wrinkling his brow, Draco studied his letter.  "Yeah."

          "Oh," Sebastian said, staring morosely at his food.

          "Must you?" Ginny asked in a soft voice.

          "Of course I don't have to," Draco snapped.  "I'm the president of my company.  I don't have to do anything I don't want to do."

          "Then stay," Ginny persuaded.

          He tossed his napkin on the table and stood up.  "Here with you?" He sneered.  "No thanks.  I'm afraid my dark arts might rub off on you."

          "I really didn't mean—" Ginny cried.

          "Save it," He cut her off, and stormed out of the room.

          She sat in limp silence, a stunned expression on her face, for nearly three minutes before it registered in her mind and she leapt out after him.  "Draco," she shouted, sprinting down the hall wildly.

          He was at the bottom of the stairs when she caught up with him, not turning once at the sound of her voice as he reached the main door.  "Don't do this," Ginny yelled.

          Draco ignored her.

          "Draco," Ginny cried.  "Look, I really am sorry about what happened—"

          "This is not about you," Draco said, without looking at her.

          "Fine," Ginny answered breathlessly, skidding to a stop.  "But you can't leave Sebastian like that.  Didn't you see how upset he was?"

"Don't tell me what I can or cannot do," Draco exploded.  "That is not your place at all."

          "How many times do I have to remind you that he's your son?" Ginny shouted at him.  "How much would it be for you to eat dinner with him?"

          "I don't have time," He snarled.

          "Then _make time!" Ginny yelled. "Do you _want_ to be Lucius Malfoy?"_

          He spun around, stormy gray eyes flashing.  "Don't ever compare me to that man, Weasley," he hissed, just inches away from her face.  "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about, so if I were you I'd just shut the hell up."  Without another word, he flung open the grand double doors.

          "Well, you're acting like him right now," She shouted after him.  Draco stopped.  He didn't turn around, but he didn't make a motion to move either, and she took this to her advantage.  "Sebastian loves you, Malfoy," Ginny pleaded.  "He reveres you, wants to be like you.  Why can't you just be more like a father to him?  Love him back?"

          The silence was unbearable.  Outside the manor, rain pounded relentlessly, and Draco stared into the bleak darkness for what seemed like minutes on end.  "You wouldn't understand," he finally said.  Slowly, he shut the door, hinges creaking obnoxiously, and leaned his head against the regal oak in despair, his breathing ragged.  It was perhaps the first time Ginny had ever seen him lose his composure, and it wrenched at her heart. 

          She was at his side in a split second.  "Try me," she said gently, encouragingly, resting a hand lightly on his arm. 

          He caught her eyes for what seemed like an infinite moment, harsh silver on warm brown, and then reached out, cupping her chin.  "How can you be so good, Virginia Weasley?" He whispered softly, the burning sensation of his familiar touch sending shivers down into her spine and tears to her eyes.  "How can you love the child of your most loathed enemy so much?  Where do you find the strength and compassion to do so?"

          She closed her eyes now, feeling the wetness fringing her upper lashes and not knowing exactly why she felt the urge to cry.  Sighing deeply, Ginny brought her hand to his and stroked the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger, wanting so much more.  When she looked up again, his face was hovering close above hers.  "Draco, I didn't mean any thing I said back there.  Really, you _aren't_ a bad person and I _like_ spending time with you and I just—"

          "Shh," he cut her off, pressing the thumb of the hand that was cupping her face still against her dry lips.  And then his lips were on hers, a tender, gentle kiss sweeter than rain itself, the kiss she'd fantasized so long about experiencing again.  They were so familiar, and she couldn't help thinking that at last, after all that wait, she was experiencing the sensation that was Draco Malfoy once more.  Despite all logic arguing how wrong it was, her heart told her it was right, so right, and she kissed him back with a fervor that surprised them both.  His tongue slid between her lips, probing with surprising question, and she knew damn well that his kisses were her undoing as her world turned into a dizzying bright rainbow.

          And then, suddenly, as if he realized what he—what they—were doing, it ended, and she felt empty without the presence of his devouring lips, without the touch of his hands.  It took her a few moments to collect herself, to steady the knees that had already melted into jelly, and finally she raised nervous brown eyes to meet his.

          He was standing stock still, looking utterly stricken as he ran one hand through his hair and clenched and unclenched the other.  "I—" He inhaled sharply.

She simply watched him with baited breath, unsure of how to react or what to say.

Draco closed his eyes.  "Oh bloody hell."

          And then, before she could respond, he turned on his heel and stormed into the pouring dark and rain. 

~End of Chapter 8~


	9. Here Without You

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  But the plot and various characters are still mine, and if you take any of it without my consent I will have your head.  Literally.

A/N* I'm sorry this took so long to get out – I had finals and school and not much time leftover to finish my fanfiction, but its here, so be happy for that.  Again, hugs to my wonderful beta Priscilla (btw, a week is NOT long at all – don't worry about it ^^) and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Chapter 9.  Here Without You

          Ginny Weasley was shell-shocked.

          Draco Malfoy had kissed her.  He had kissed _her_, and he had kissed her like he meant it.  Like he wanted to.  Like he wanted her.

          She had waited seven years for that bloody kiss.

         "Damn it," she growled to herself, stalking up the stairs.  She did not need this and she did not need him, not now, not when everything was going so well.  Anyways, he had run, fleeing away from his house and away from her, into the dark where she couldn't follow him.

          At any rate, Ginny told herself, she shouldn't follow him, nor should she want to.  This was Draco Malfoy, the man she had convinced herself of loving and the one man she would never have.  _But I did have him_, a tiny voice said, _I had him in the most intimate way possible_.

          The scene played itself over and over in her head.  Their argument, the scalding kiss, the shock on Draco's face, and the hurt that had pounded in her heart as he turned away from her.  The wishful part of her had expected him to come back, but he didn't.  Sorrowfully, she'd resumed dinner with Sebastian, tucked him in, and had fallen asleep on his couch.

          And the next morning, when Narcissa came for Sebastian, Draco still had not returned.  The message to her was clear: he was obviously not returning anytime soon, not when she would be around.  Ginny sighed, hesitating at the door to Harry's flat.  No, she couldn't have Draco, this she knew, but she couldn't do this to Harry either.

          _I'm giving up Harry Potter for Draco Malfoy_, she realized, letting out a small, disbelieving laugh.  Could she do this, really?  Could she really give up everything her girlhood fantasies had dreamt of, could she return the beautiful diamond ring, all for the slight, nearly impossible chance that Draco, a Slytherin, a Malfoy, could ever love her?

          "I don't love Harry," Ginny said aloud wondrously, as if hearing the words would make everything easier.  "I can't do this to Harry.  It isn't right."

          She swung open the door, calm on her face and determination in her heart.

          "Harry, we need to talk."

          The words came loud and sharp in the quiet of his flat, and he jerked up, greatly startled to see her standing coolly in his living room.

          "Gin," Harry said, voice ringing with unhidden surprise.  "What are you doing here?"  Her calm expression wavered, and he hastened to add, "Not that I don't want to see you.  I just. . .wasn't expecting you, is all."

          "Harry," Ginny began, and then noticed that he was sitting amidst a suitcase, owl in hand.  "Harry, why are you packed?"

          He glanced around him.  "Oh right."  He winced.  "Well, listen, I was just going to owl you.  The ministry wants me to go away on some business, and I'm really tight on schedule, and—"

          "But I need to talk to you," Ginny burst out.

          A regretful gleam in his wide green eyes told her all she needed to know.  "Oh Gin, listen," Harry apologized.  "This is really a terrible time.  I'd love to talk about whatever's on your mind, but this is urgent.  Really urgent.  You do understand?"

          She sunk into his couch slowly.  "Right, of course."

          Harry smiled at her, brushing her cheek with his lips airily as he hefted the duffel onto his shoulder and strode towards the door.  "You can see yourself out?" He asked softly, asking in his own way whether or not she would be okay.  

          "I'll be fine," she replied in an unaffected tone.

          He grinned.  "That's my girl."

          And as the door closed loudly, she whispered to nobody in particular, "I can't be your girl, Harry."

~*~

          _Pansy –_

_I wonder if you remember the very first time our Fathers forced us together, at Hogwarts in our fourth year.  I told you I would rather die than dance with you, and you retorted that I just might if I didn't.  To tell the truth, I have never liked you.  And now, I am in my late twenties, and I refuse to let anyone dictate what I do anymore.  Not you, and not my parents._

_You have to understand this, Parkinson.  You and I have both changed greatly over the years.  I am not the same boy I was at school, and you are not the same annoying blonde that followed me everywhere I went.  Perhaps if we met later in life I wouldn't hate you as much, but the fact of the matter is that this is the environment we have been born into, and I don't love you.  Hell, I don't even like you.  _

_But I will give that you are not stupid, and surely you know this already; thus, you surely know why I'm writing.  I'm writing because I want a divorce, Pansy.  I can't pretend anymore, I will not pretend anymore.  My entire life I have lived under my Father.  Now, he's sick, and I want to move on.  I can't be tied to a woman I will never love.  Nor can I be tied to a man who has never truly seen me as his son.  _

_You might want to know what has caused this change of heart, and the answer is nothing really.  It's more the realization that I am nearing 30, and my entire life has been a lie.  My wife, my son, my family.  I can't rectify what has already passed, but I can prevent that from repeating in the future.  Enclosed are the papers I had drawn up from the Ministry of Magic.  All you need to do is sign them, and you're free.  Sebastian can be discussed later._

_- Draco Malfoy –_

With a sigh, Draco set his quill down and rolled the parchment gently.  "Persephone," he directed his beautiful white owl, "Find Pansy in Aruba."

She regarded him with wide eyes, hooting softly and shaking her head.

"This is not a request," Draco murmured gently, stroking her pristine wings.

Persephone continued to hoot, in protest perhaps.

He leaned back into his chair, closing his eyes with yet another heavy sigh and tossing the parchment carelessly onto his desk.  "Oh sod this," Draco grumbled.  "You and your stupid mood swings."

"Sod what, may I ask?"

He turned around at the speed of lightening, chair squeaking as it swiveled, to see Blaise outlined in the shadow of his door.  "Christ, Zabini, you shouldn't creep up on people like that."

Blaise stepped into the room casually, eyeing the discarded papers all around the room.  "Trying to write a letter, I see?"

"How'd you find me?" Draco ignored the question.

"Well," Blaise shrugged.  "You weren't at home.  Nobody was, in fact.  So I figured you'd be at your office.  You know, just a hunch."

Draco frowned.

"Does it scare you how well I know you?" Blaise quirked his lips into a sardonic smile.

"It scares me that I kissed Weasley," Draco muttered.

Blaise nearly choked.  "What?"

"I don't know why," Draco said slowly, after a long stretch of silence.  "But I did."

"I see."  A pause.  "Did you. . .enjoy it?"

"Oh hell no," Draco cried vehemently.  "She's a Weasley, may I remind you.  I don't. . .I don't know why I—"

"I do," Blaise interrupted with a small, triumphant grin.  "You need a woman, Malfoy, and I know just the right remedy."

"Blaise—" Draco began warningly, the letter forgotten.

"Oh shut your harping.  I'm your best mate and I know what's best."

~*~

          Ginny stretched herself out on Harry's couch languidly, nestling her head into the comfortable throw pillows and closing her eyes.  _I wonder what Draco's doing right now_.  The thought popped into her head before she could stop herself, and with a loud groan she covered her face with a pillow, as if doing so could banish him from her mind.

          "Ginny?"  A knock sounded at the door.

          "Go away," Ginny mumbled.

          "Ginny, open up," the voice said again.  "I just ran into Harry and I _know_ you're in there."

          She gave another groan, tossing the pillow down and moving to yank the door open.  "Lav?"

          A wide smile wove itself into her friend's face.  "That's right," Lavender declared, throwing her arms around the surprised redhead.  "I'm back!"

          "How was the honeymoon?"

          "Beautiful," Lavender sighed dreamily as she followed Ginny inside Harry's flat.  "Absolutely perfect.  Thanks for the gorgeous sendoff, by the way."

          Ginny beamed.  "Anything for my best girl, right?"

          "And to talk about weddings," Lavender continued, eyes sparkling.  "You're engaged?  Since when did I miss this development?"

          "Ohhh," Ginny groaned once more, burying her face in her hands.  "Don't remind me."

          "What?" Lavender cried.  "You aren't terribly ecstatic that you're marrying the one and only Harry Potter?"

          "Don't get me wrong," Ginny said, raising her head slowly.  "Harry's a wonder.  He's sweet, and kind, and handsome, and everything I've ever dreamt of and—"

          "So what's the problem?"

          "The problem," Ginny sighed, "Is that I'm not in love with him.  I don't want to be with him, Lavender, surely not for the rest of my life."

          Lavender frowned.  "Does he love you?"

          Ginny shrugged.  "I don't think so, actually.  I think he just wants Evie to have a mother."

          Crossing her legs, Lavender leaned back and eyed Ginny contemplatively.  "This doesn't happen to have anything to do with a tall, nasty blond who's spent the past few years in Canada, does it?"

          There came no answer from Ginny.

          "I knew it!" Lavender shouted, jumping up.  "He's back, isn't he?  Draco Malfoy's back!"

          "The bane of my existence," Ginny said in a muffled voice, "And yet I can't seem to live without him."

          "So?" Lavender demanded.  "Did you talk to him?"

          "Of course I've talked to him," Ginny rolled her eyes.  "I work in his mansion, for goodness sakes."

          "Yeah?" Lavender bit her lower lip.  "What'd you say?  Oh I can imagine—" she swept her arm dramatically around the room "—'My dear Draco, I did forget to tell you, I slept with you 7 years ago and I'm the mother of yo—'"

          "Lavender!" Ginny shrieked, laughing as she tackled the other woman to the ground.  

          "Relax, Gin," Lavender protested.  "Nobody's going to hear."

         When the giggles had subsided, Ginny sat back with a small, embarassed smile.  "I know," she said softly.  "It's just—it's just that you're the only one who knows, Lav.  I don't know what people would think of me if they—if they knew."

          "They wouldn't think any less of you," Lavender insisted.  "Your father needed that money, Gin.  It was for the best.  They would understand."

          "And I don't know why I feel for him so much," Ginny went on, eyes filling with tears.  "It isn't as if I have any chance with him at all, and yet I want to be with him, and every second I spend with him makes me smile, and—"

          "Shh," Lavender said, bringing her arms around Ginny.  "It's okay.  It will all be okay."

          And they spent some time like that, Ginny sniffling in the embrace of her childhood friend, thankful for Lavender yet wishing to hell it was Draco comforting her.

~*~

          "Zabini, I still don't think this was a good idea."

          "You don't think anything I do is a good idea," Blaise retorted, glancing around the strip joint with a very pleased expression upon his face.  "Lighten up, Malfoy."

          Draco glared at his friend, who in return grinned impishly.  "I don't need to lighten up," he snarled.  "I just need a certain weasel out of my house."

          "Maybe," Blaise said slowly, not meeting Draco's eyes.  "The problem is that you really _don't_ want her out of your house."

          He could feel the blonde's penetrating silver gaze, and glanced at the gyrating dancers smiling down from the bar top.  "What is that supposed to mean?" Draco demanded.

          "I think," Blaise went on, "You just need a lay.  Seven years is a long time, you know.  A very long time."

          "You don't need to tell me," Draco groaned.

          "You're not," Blaise paused.  "Interested in men now are you?"  The incredulous stare was all he needed in reply.  Hiding a chuckle, Blaise shrugged.  "Come on, pal, tell me you can still appreciate women."

          "I can," Draco said defensively.  "Even though Pansy has definitely hindered that ability."

          "So," Blaise said.  "This was a good idea then."

          Gray met blue.

          "Unless," Blaise added.  "It's not sexual frustration and you don't really need a lay.  You just need _her_."

          "_Her_?" Draco spat out.

          "Didn't say anything," Blaise shrugged, holding up a galleon to the busty blond girl on her knees before him.  She pressed herself into his lap, nuzzling his neck as she danced, and he winked at Draco.  "Go get yourself a dance, Malfoy," Blaise grinned, pressing a galleon into Draco's hand.  "And if you're lucky, a bit more than a dance."

          "You aren't serious," Draco said with great dismay.

          "If Weasley really isn't the reason why you're all bothered," was his nonchalant response.  He turned his head slightly, so his face was hovering above the stripper's.  "What's your name, love?"

          She giggled, in a way that reminded Draco of Pansy.  "Hannah," she murmured back as he pressed his lips to hers.

          Draco turned away in disgust, shaking his head and striding towards the door.  A flash of red caught his eye, however, and he turned thoughtfully, gaze trailing a leather-clad redhead making her way towards the V.I.P room.  Like hell was he was upset over _Weasley_.  Glancing down at the galleon Blaise had given him, it took only a moment's hesitation before he followed her nimbly into a secluded room rich with expensive furniture.

          "Need a hand?" He said in a low voice as she set down a tray.

          She jumped, eyes softening as she took in his slender build and smoldering eyes.  "Depends," she replied in a seductive voice.

          He took a step closer, and hid a smile as her lips parted.  "On?"

          "On who's offering," she answered coyly.  "And. . .on what else he's offering."

          Roughly grabbing her by the waist, Draco dipped his head to hers and ravaged her in a kiss that left her weak at the knees.  He studied her for a moment, and then settled down on the couch and eyed her suggestively.  "Well?"

          She grinned.  "I'm Janey," she whispered as she crawled atop him.

          "I don't care," he replied shortly before covering her lips with his again.

          Blaise was right, then.  He didn't need Weasley, just a lay.  He didn't need Weasley at all.

~*~

          "So are you going to tell Harry?"

          They were situated in Harry's quaint kitchen, Lavender absently stirring tea as Ginny rested her head against the table.  "I want to."

          "About the engagement only, or about Malfoy too?"

          Ginny winced.  "Lav, can you imagine what would happen if Ron found out about Draco?"

          "Do you love Malfoy?" Lavender asked carefully.

         Silence.  "I don't know," Ginny finally said.  "I don't know if I'd want to spend the rest of my life with him.  But I know I want to be with him.  I know he makes me feel. . .alive."

          "Live is always good," Lavender agreed enthusiastically.  

          Ginny grumbled.

          Laughing, Lavender continued to stir her tea.  "You know, I just thought of exactly what would make you feel better right now."

          "Really," Ginny said woodenly.  "Because I can't think of a single thing."

          "Remember how we were both utterly and completely obsessed with William Wexler back at Hogwarts?" 

          "Wicked Willie!" They chorused simultaneously before splitting into peals of laughter.

          "I still have that record," Ginny giggled.  "I listen to it now and then."

          "And the poster we kept above the beds in the dormitory," Lavender added.  "Remember how we used to look at him before we went to sleep?"

          "Sweet dreams indeed," agreed Ginny.

          "Well," Lavender said, eyes twinkling.  "I've got tickets to. . .William Wexler Live!"

          "No!" Ginny cried in disbelief.

          "That's right," Lavender nodded.  "With backstage tickets!"

          They squealed like they were seventeen once again.

          "Come on," Lavender urged, tossing her a scarf.  "Let's go!"

~*~

          Something was off.

          Draco Malfoy had made out with plenty of beautiful witches in his lifetime, and he knew enough to know that something was most definitely not right.  Frowning, he pulled away from Janey as if to catch his breath, and closed his eyes in frustration.

          "Oh gods."  She leaned back, completely oblivious, and eyed him with wondrous blue eyes.  "Aren't I supposed to be the one making you dizzy?"

          They were situated on the long leather sofa, Draco sprawled out lazily and her astride him.  There were stains of lipstick all down his neck, and as she continued to stare at him, pupils dilated with lust, he realized that she was, really, a very attractive girl.  Then why was he not turned on?

          "I do have that effect on women," Draco shrugged, failing to sound enthusiastic.

          She giggled.  "Oh yes you do."

          A strange pang of disappointment hit his chest for some reason.  He hadn't been expecting her to giggle, much less agree.  "Unh." _What had he expected her to do?  Disagree_

          "You must work out a lot," Janey continued, spreading her fingers under the unbuttoned collar of his shirt.  "Or do you have one of those spells?"

          _He had expected her to bite her lip.  Ginny always bit her lip when he went on expounding his ego._

          In startlement, almost, he glanced up at her, caught her eye and it hit him with the force of a tidal wave.  _Shit._

         He pushed her off quickly, jumping to his feet.  With an uncharacteristic yelp, she tumbled to the ground, a mass of red hair and skimpy clothing, one strap of her lacy black camisole hanging off her shoulder in a way that to anyone else would've been sexy.  "What was that for?" She cried, trying hard not to look displeased as she moved back onto the couch.

          "I want you—"  He couldn't finish.  _I want you to be Ginny_, he'd almost said.

          Janey crossed her legs and leaned back, staring at him with sultry eyes and pouting her lips.  "If you want me, then why don't you come over here, and we can finish what we started," she said suggestively.

          "I don't think so."

          "Why not?" She cooed, pretending it was all a game.

          "Because you aren't Ginny," Draco said, more to himself than anyone else.

          "I know I'm not Ginny," she rolled her eyes.  "I'm Janey."

          "And that," Draco said, an understanding expression coming over his face, "Is precisely the problem."  He turned on his heel and strode to the door, feeling much clearer in mind than he had before Blaise had dragged him to this seedy joint.

          "I still don't understand," Janey whined.

"Here," Draco stopped at the door, one hand already on the handle, and tossed his galleon at her.  "This was…interesting.  But thanks."

"_What_ is wrong?" Janey demanded, sounding annoyed.

          He looked at her with what could have been helplessness.  "Your eyes aren't brown," He said, and rushed out the door.

~*~

          "Ginny, I want you to meet William Wexler," Lavender gushed.  "Willie, this is Virginia Weasley."

          The concert had just ended, and Lavender and Ginny were standing hesitantly in William's backstage lounge, awaiting the singer's return.

          As he stepped into view, she saw that he had not changed much from the days Ginny used to stare at his poster for hours on end.  Average in height – slightly shorter than Draco, she thought involuntarily – and extremely well muscled, his large blue eyes were indeed as beautiful in person.  "Hello, Virginia," he greeted her in that melodic voice.

          "Hi," she replied, slightly less excited than she had expected.

          "Willie and I met on my honeymoon," Lavender chirped.  "He was staying at the same hotel."

          "That's right," He agreed, smiling at her and causing numerous girls behind them to swoon.

          "Willie!" One of the fans screamed, and he politely excused himself to sign her giant poster.

          "Lav," Ginny hissed, pulling her friend aside.  "You know William Wexler personally?"

          "Oh," Lavender said, her grin wide and amused.  "I was surprised enough to see him at our resort.  But imagine my surprise when I found out that he's Dean's Quidditch buddy!"

          "And you didn't tell me this?" Ginny's jaw dropped open.

          "Well I did just get back," Lavender countered, eyes sparkling.

          He appeared beside them once more.  "Ah, that's taken care of.  You know, I'm surprised that these girls still follow my music.  It's been years."

          "Years," Lavender echoed mirthfully.

          William turned towards Ginny, trademark grin on the corners of his lips.  "You know, I've heard quite a lot about you from Lavender here.  Would you possibly be interested in joining me for a late night drink tonight?"

          Ginny shot a wide-eyed glare at Lavender, who only grinned in return.  "Lavender—"

          "She'd love to," Lavender interjected, winking and nudging Ginny pointedly in the gut.

          "Great," William said, smiling broadly.

          "Right," Ginny said quickly.  "So what time should I meet you?"

          "Well," he began slowly.  "I was thinking we could just leave now."

          "And leave all your adoring fans?" Ginny laughed.  "I think I'd have a mob after me."

          "I can imagine," He agreed, lowering his voice and raking his gaze over her.  "I imagine you always have quite a mob after you."

          "That she does," a fourth voice said coolly, and they all turned to see Draco Malfoy striding towards them, black robes billowing out with ease.  He looked entirely out of place, and completely antithetical to William, elegant where the latter was rugged, tall and slender to his bulging biceps, and pale to the singer's deep, bronzed tan.  As he neared, Ginny saw a flickering of unexplainable emotion behind his impassive gray eyes, and knew immediately he was not as calm as he appeared.

          "Hello," William said smugly.  "Would you like an autograph?"

          "No thank you," Draco returned with an equally condescending smirk.  "Who are you again?"

          "William Wexler," William answered, sounding flabbergasted.

          "Right," Draco said in a voice that plainly expressed how little he cared, and stared at Ginny.  

          "If you don't know who I am," William said somewhat peevishly, "Then why are you at my concert?"

          "Ginny, I need you," Draco said.

          William's startled gaze roved from Ginny to Draco, and Lavender let out a gasp.

          "I need you to come back to Malfoy Manor," Draco went on.  "Sebastian's sick."

          "You aren't going to go, are you?" William interjected before Ginny could respond.  "I was really looking forward to our date."

          Draco's eyes grew a shade darker at his words.

          Ginny turned helplessly towards Lavender.  "Lav—"

          "I understand," Lavender whispered quickly.

          "But Virginia—" William started, shooting an angry look at Draco.  "Is this your boyfriend or something?  Or your husband?  What obligation do you have to him?"

          "That's really none of your business," Draco said smoothly.  Ginny opened her mouth to snap at him, but he clapped his cool, dry palm over it.  "It's important, Ginny," He said in a low voice.

          She stepped back, smiling apologetically at the singer.  "Sorry, Willie," Ginny let out a small sigh, and met Draco's steely eyes.  "I guess I'll…see you around."

          And then Draco grasped her hand lightly, and they disapparated.

~*~

          The moment they arrived at Malfoy Manor, he dropped her hand.

          They stood silently in his parlor, neither sure of what to say and both keenly aware of the other's emotions.

          "I didn't know William Wexler was still alive," Draco finally said.

          "Draco," Ginny stared at him accusingly.  "Sebastian isn't sick, is he."

          "No."  His response was curt and abrupt.

          "So why am I here, Draco?"  She asked, heart beating from the mere possibility of his answers.

          He threw up his hands.  "Why are any of us here, Ginny?  I bet everyone has asked that at one time."

          She glared at him.  "Stop being such a wanker.  You interrupted a perfectly good night I was having and you owe me an explanation."

          "Oh right," Draco smirked.  "With 'Willie'."

          Her temper flared.  "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

          "Nothing," he seethed.  "I'm just not some fan girl who swoons over your boyfriend, that's all."

          She stared at him blankly.  "He is not my boyfriend."

          "I should have known," Draco said snidely.  "He _is 40.  And as if a rock star would want to date you."_

          "He's 32," Ginny corrected.  "And he asked me on a date, I'll have you know."

          "Well, as your boss, I prohibit you from dating him," Draco said.

          "What?" Ginny exclaimed.

          "That's right," Draco said, glaring at her.  "You'll make a bad impression on my son."

          "Okay, that's it," Ginny shouted, eyes glowering with anger as she stormed over towards him.  "I can date whoever I want, I'll have you know, and I would have had a perfectly nice time with William Wexler, and it is absolutely none of your sodding business who I'm with because obviously you don't want to—"

          "If you want to be with William so much, maybe you should just go," He cut her off.

          "Maybe I will," she replied defensively, tilting her chin.

          "Do you want to?"  He said before he could stop himself.

          She crossed her arms.  "I think anything is better than being around you, Draco Malfoy."

          He studied her from under a fringe of long blond lashes.  "Then why," he asked in an impossibly soft voice.  "Did you come with me?"

          The room was dead silent as he took in her glimmering brown eyes, her mouth a round 'o' of surprise from the unexpectedness of his question and slight moisture on her parted lips.  "I don't know," she whispered nearly inaudibly.  "Maybe I wanted to.  Maybe I wanted…you."

          And then it was as if something in the air exploded, and in a split second he was on her, hands drawing her close and lips and teeth all mashing together.  He kissed her as if he would die the next day, as if he could not stand another inch of air between them, as if she was his sole purpose for living.  And before she could even register what had happened, her own arms had found their place around his neck, pulling his head down and crushing their bodies together.

          There was nothing tender about his kisses, not this time, not like before.  They were hungry and demanding and almost illicit, and she couldn't seem to care about anything except the feeling, and oh how right it felt.  He bit down on her lower lip and she moaned, weaving nerveless hands through his silky hair as he pushed her back against the wall.

          She ran her hands down his neck, spreading her fingers over the sharp bone of shoulder and the lean muscle of his arms.  One of his hands found solace at the small of her back while the other gently stroked at her stomach, gently until he was holding onto the zipper of her blouse.

Draco lifted his head away from hers then, breath heavy and labored, and stared at her with unfathomable silver eyes, full of question, full of need, full of emotions she had never imagined possible for a Malfoy.  And she stared back, equally out of breath and out of mind, eyes focused on his thin lips before her.

          "Tell me to stop," He demanded, hoarsely, giving a slight tug on her zipper.

          She buried her face into his neck, nibbling at the tender skin in the juncture between chin and earlobe, and he let out an incoherent noise.  Pressing her lips against his jaw, she trailed a line of kisses up until his ear.  "No," she whispered.

          And then they were lost to each other; and there were stars like the heavens themselves had fallen into Malfoy Manor.

~End of Chapter 9~

Please review?


	10. The Power of a Kiss

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  

A/N* 

/edit I had originally planned to post this on Valentine's day – my beta (thank you so much!) even emailed it back to me just in time, only I spent the day in Chicago with some friends and we missed the right train back, so I kind of forgot to check my email…sorry!  But here it is, in the flesh, with the original authors notes and everything – which had assumed it would be posted on V-Day.  

Warning: This chapter is pure fluff.  So forgive me if it lacks as many Weasley/Malfoy hatred moments as usual, and forgive me if I fail to bring Blaise/Harry/Franny/Pansy into this chapter, but it's Valentine's Day, and I thought it was high time you D/Gers got some fluff. =D

Chapter 10. The Power of a Kiss

_The East Wing of Malfoy Manor hosted grand bedchambers, Draco's being the most magnificent.  Windows stretched, sparkling clear, to the ceiling, filtering in the warm beams of sun in the early morning.  They were adorned with heavy green draperies, dark, plush, lined with silver, and rarely let down, and overlooked the beautiful lake lying still in frosty dawn._

_Normally, Draco let down the curtains surrounding his four-poster bed to block an unwelcome ray of bright sun interrupting his sleep.  It was a habit Ginny grew accustomed to, as more and more often she began spending the nights at his estate, in his chamber._

_This particular morning, however, the curtains had not been released – they must have been preoccupied the night before; and Ginny was rudely awakened in the height of her slumber.  As usual, it took a few moments before she realized where she was, her first thought being that the satin sheets entangling her body felt much smoother than those she was accustomed to._

_He was folded around her, warm breath tickling her ears, and the rhythmic rising of his chest comforting against her own.  She turned gently in his arms, blinking to adjust to the light, and gazed at his resting face.  Never before had she had the chance to simply admire him, his aristocratic features and perfect skin; as he alwa awoke before her.  Certainly he was not conventionally handsome, with his sharp eyebrows and angular features, yet bathed in the morning light, a small smile curled at the edges of his normally smirking lips, he was, to her, the epitome of Adonis, her Adonis._

_But was he really hers?_

_Ginny wondered then how many women before her had lain in this position, nestled in his bare arms, admiring his face.  She wondered how many women he had promised love and dreams to, and then realized with a start, that he had never promised her anything._

_She must have tensed then, because as if sensing her perusal, he opened his eyes, slowly as not to frighten her, and a smile flashed across his face before it settled back into regular impassiveness.  "Morning, lazy," He murmured into her ear._

_"Draco?"_

_          He moved slightly.  "Mmm."_

_         "Draco, what am I to you?"_

_          Now he turned, slowly, onto his side so that his head was propped up by one hand and he was facing her.  She tugged at the sheets self-consciously, wishing they covered more, as he raked darkening grey eyes over her scantily clad body.  "I don't know," he said after a moment, a suppressed smirk curling the edges of his lips.  "A convenient fuck?"_

_          A look of absolute horror wove itself onto her face, eyes watering profusely upon hearing the exact words she had dreaded.  She opened her mouth to tell him off, to slap him, to anything, except she couldn't seem to do much of anything but lie there and stare with appalled disbelief.  He watched her with amused eyes for a moment, which of course only further fanned her rage, a fact to which he gave a laugh and pulled her close.  She struggled in his arms, proceeding to entangle their sheets further, and he murmured in her ear, "Silly, silly Gin.  You know you're more than that.  You're much more than that."_

~*~

          "Miss?  Would you like to order?"

          Ginny turned her face to the waiter, a small smile playing at her lips.  "No thank you, I'm waiting for someone," she informed him politely, and he disappeared into the throng.  She returned to her lemon-spiked water and glossy fashion magazine, the smile growing wider by the second.

          _I'm waiting for Draco._

          It sounded so odd to say that, as if they were an item.  But weren't they? It had been five weeks, five beautiful, glorious weeks since they had come together for the first – or second, really – time, and she was enjoying every minute of it.  But now, Ginny knew enough about Draco to take it slowly, to not pressure him, and their odd little relationship was prospering wonderfully.

          Sure, he could be a bit cold and distant sometimes, but she learned not to take it personally.  It was the way Draco Malfoy was programmed, and nobody was going to change that.  In truth, it didn't bother her so much, his difficulty opening up to her, because the way he looked at her when he thought she didn't know told more than she could have ever asked for.

         At first, she was afraid they had been caught up on the passion, in the heat of the moment.  They never spoke much about themselves, or about the connection they shared.  Of course, they did most everything together, as she did care for his son, and he treated her as an equal, but she was never quite sure whether he just saw her as a mistress, or whether worse yet, if she was just one of many.

          The weeks passed quickly, but slowly at the same time.  She was spending nearly all the nights at Malfoy Manor – and in his bed no less – and yet through all that time, he had never once vocalized his affections for her, never once showed it other than an occasional gesture of kindness that made her swell with happiness.

          And then, of course, there was this morning.

          _"You're much more than that."_

Ginny closed her eyes, grinning just at the memory.  She could still feel his soft breath on her ear, the sudden but undeniable speeding up of his heartbeat beneath hers.  She shouldn't have asked him, she knew, but it was nagging her, bothering her even in their most harmonious of moments, and she needed some confirmation of sorts.

On the other hand, if he really had seen her that way, she might not have had the heart to leave his bed either.

_But he didn't_, she reminded herself, letting out a small, content sigh.

"Thinking of me, are we," a voice drawled from above her, and she opened her eyes to see Draco.

He was dressed almost like a muggle.  Almost, because no matter what Draco Malfoy wore it would always been expensive and richly crafted, and no doubt above muggle material.  He was without a robe, naturally, yet still in dark colors – charcoal pressed trousers and a classy black sweater.  And was he wearing glasses?

Smirking at her, Draco took a seat.

"Draco?" She said, almost in disbelief.  "Why have you got on those – those glasses?"

"Well," He answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.  "You _are_ making me have lunch at a muggle place.  I thought it would be prudent to dress—" he paused "—not exactly like a wizard."

          "You look intelligent," she noted with appreciation in her voice, and he flicked that slightly disinterested stare at her.

          "I _am_ intelligent," Draco harrumphed.

          "Fine then," Ginny waved her hand.  "You have good taste in muggle clothing.  Is that better?"

          He rolled his eyes.  "_Of course_ I have good taste, Ginny.  Any idiot could tell that."

          She was near ready to challenge his difficulty of accepting compliments when unexpectedly, Draco reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers and locking their gazes.  "After all," He said in a soft voice she had never before heard, "I'm with _you_."

          A flaming blush crept up her neck, and her eyes softened.  "Oh Draco," Ginny whispered, shifting forward in her chair to brush their noses together.  She brought her lips towards his, closer…closer…

          He flickered his eyes to her own, and a small smirk tugged at his lips as she moved in for an appreciative snog…

          "Ahem."

          They jumped apart – or rather, she jumped away – to see the waiter standing patiently.  "You are ready to order?"

          Ginny sat back and hid her face, listening as Draco rattled off the most expensive entrees with collected coolness.

          A few moments later, he sat back with a satisfied expression upon his face and faced her.  "You look annoyed," He observed, as if it amused him.

          "I'm not," Ginny gave a small sigh, swirling the ice cubes inside her glass absentmindedly.  "Just glad to finally see you, that's all."

          He frowned.  "Was I late?"

          "No no," she hurried to say.  "I just…it's been a long day.  That's all."

          "I see," Draco smirked.  "Here's where I'm supposed to comfort you, isn't it?"

          She folded her arms and eyed him pensively.  "And why don't you?"

          "Because," he replied, shrugging, "I'd be – oh what's that word those muggles use – whipped."

          "Don't you have to be in a relationship to be whipped?" Ginny rolled her eyes.

          She could sense the hesitation.  "Aren't we?"

          "Well—"

          "Unless you'd rather just be…shag buddies," He amended, earning himself a seething glare.  "To which I'd have no objections."  He let out a small sigh.  "I feel a shift in the conversation," Draco stated matter-of-factly, and crossed his arms.  "Now explain to me why."

          "Draco," Ginny said in a tiny voice.  "You're _married_."

          "I know," he answered quietly, playing with his own drink.  Then, gently, he took her palm and turned it over, tracing the lines of her hand.  "But I don't love her, Gin.  I never have."

          "Do you love me?" She blurted out before she could stop herself.

          There was a long, drawn out pause, and then he cocked his head at her, smiling that lipless smile of his.  "Well, you did choose a muggle café to dine at," he began.

          She should have expected that he would avoid the question.

          "Never mind," Ginny snapped, snatching her hand away.

          He slid closer to her, chair scraping against the stone of the ground.  "Ginny," He said, cupping her chin with one cool hand and forcing her head towards his.  "That is beyond the point.  The point is that I don't love _her_."

          She let him capture her other hand, and gave a long sigh of resignation.  "I see there's no point in continuing this topic," Ginny whispered.  "Is there?"

          He shook his head.  

          "This is wrong, you know," Ginny went on.  "You and me.  We're wrong."

          Though she expected him to be angered, he instead just arched an eyebrow.  "Of course we're wrong," Draco agreed, letting go of her chin.  "I'm a Malfoy.  You're a Weasley.  I'm wealthy.  You're poor.  I'm cultured.  You aren't."

          She furrowed her eyebrows together, feeling as if she should have been more offended.  "Then why are we-why do I-why do you—"

          "Why have we slept together?" Draco finished calmly.

          She blinked.

          "Ask yourself," He said in a soft voice.  "Though sometimes I do wonder why I've stooped to such a level."

          "You're a bastard," She glowered at him.  "And you're cold, and distant, and somewhat heartless.  You never tell me anything, nor do you tell anyone else of me, and you never want to talk."

          "Aren't we talking right now?" He objected.

          "You're gone when I wake up most mornings, leaving me to take care of your son," Ginny continued, ignoring him entirely.  "You don't care enough for your son, either, Draco.  You make me ache inside, you treat me as if I'm nothing to you.  As if I'm nothing, period.  You—"

          She was silenced then by his thumb, the pad, rough and comforting, against her lips.  "Then why," Draco said, not in the least fazed, "Do you let me?"

          Her voice broke.  "Because of the passion.  Because when you kiss me, I don't care that you're married.  I don't care about anything else except you, and your kisses, and suddenly that kiss is more important than all promises of sorts, and—"

          "And passion," Draco finished. "Isn't that enough?"

          She stared at him with doe brown eyes, wide and surprised, and her mouth parted underneath the gentle pressure of his finger.  He traced his thumb all along her lower lip, slightly wetted from the brief contact with her tongue, and she could feel the power of his darkening mercury eyes in his touch.

          "Draco," Ginny started breathlessly, and shifted slightly closer.

          "Your food," The waiter announced loudly, causing Draco to slide his chair back to its normal position.  

          "Of course," Draco said, neatly unfolding the napkin and flashing him the familiar, aloof Malfoy smirk that was supposed to symbolize gratitude.  

She couldn't hold back the sigh that escaped her lips, and smiled appreciatively as she took her food.  Then, from underneath the table, she felt him draw his foot gently along the bare skin of her calf, tickling her lightly and inducing a nearly inaudible, but definitely pleased gasp.

          "Draco," Ginny hissed.

          He grinned.

~*~

          "So," Draco said as they were walking around Hogsmeade later in the day.  "Suppose a very rich wizard needed to garner publicity for his company.  How would he go about doing that?"

          She turned towards him and raised an eyebrow.  There was a suitable distance between them, of at least two feet, so had Ron or anyone chanced their path, there would be no suspicion as to them being there, together.  "Why would he need to garner publicity?"

          Draco shrugged.  "Mr. Bronson."

          "I thought you secured that deal," Ginny said, steering them towards a shop of delicacies.  He glanced at her in surprise.

          "I did," He answered after a momentary pause.  _So she has a sweet tooth._

          "Okay," She said slowly.  "Then why must you get publicity?"

          She was not looking at him as she spoke, brown eyes wide and concentrated on the food before her.  The warm sunlight flooding in through the window caught errant gold in her hair, and he caught himself staring, transfixed by its soft red.  "Just because I've secured a deal doesn't mean it will stay secured," Draco said with slight impatience.  "Bronson is a fickle man.  I've told you that."

          Her eyes remained focused on a chocolate cake for so long he wondered if she had heard him.  "Is he married?"

          He made a grunting sound.  "Why else would family be so important?"

          "Have you met Mrs. Bronson?" Ginny inquired eagerly.  "What's she like?"

          Draco frowned.  "I somehow fail to see the relevance, Gin."

          "Answer the question," She retorted, turning towards the back shelves of neatly stacked candies.

          Draco sighed, racking his memory.  "I think her name is Julia.  She's American, if I remember correctly.  Very young, actually.  Tall, blue eyes and light brown hair."

          "It doesn't matter what she looks like," Ginny interrupted.  "What does she enjoy?"

          His frown only grew deeper.  "I wouldn't know," He said, with a touch of annoyance.

          "Does she like elegant affairs?" Ginny pressed.

          "I would imagine so," Draco huffed.

Ginny paused, perusing the shelf of delicious sweets before turning to him with a wide, exuberant smile.  "You could host a dance," she suggested excitedly. "A grand ball."

          He cocked his eyebrow at her.  "A ball?" Draco repeated somewhat skeptically, and glanced away.

          She gave an emphatic nod.  "Oh yes, a ball.  A most elegant affair in the ballroom – you do have a ballroom, don't you – that will be in the news for weeks and weeks to come."

          It became obvious then that he was not looking at her because he was trying valiantly to suppress a smile. 

          "_What_," Ginny demanded, "Is so funny?"

          Pursing his lips together, Draco turned towards her, and she was struck by the tenderness in his smoldering eyes.  "You," He said in that smug, low voice, and then added, "Your ability to make me smile."  It was tinged with such surprising affection, she near melted.

          "Oh," she whispered, standing on her tip toes and bringing their faces close together.

          "And we do have a ballroom," He announced plaintively, right when their lips almost met.  "Of course we have a ballroom.  We're Malfoy."

          It ruined the moment terribly, of course, and with an exasperated sigh Ginny shook her head, and returned her attention to the food.

~*~

          "Third," Ginny announced, scanning her scroll of parchment.  "Third is the Quidditch shop."

          "Huh," Draco noted.  "And why are we going there?"

          "You wanted to go there," Ginny reminded.  "For Merlin knows why."

          "Right, right." Draco agreed.  "For Sebastian, actually."

          "Isn't Sebastian a tad young to be playing Quidditch?" Ginny asked.

          "You can't be too young to play Quidditch," came his indignant reply.  "And at any rate, he's six.  He's a big boy."

          He held the door for her as she stepped into the store.

          His nose brushed against her neck, ever so softly.  "Draco," she whispered, arms coming around to hold him close for support.

          She felt his lips trail soft butterfly kisses around her jaw line, moving closer to her own, with mind-numbing slowness…

          "Oh fuck," He muttered.

          The moment ruined, she spun around to spot a thankfully oblivious redhead laughing, a familiar witch upon his arm.  "What is my brother doing here?" Ginny hissed. 

          "I could ask the same thing," Draco said, surprisingly calm.

          "He's coming towards us," Ginny cried.  "Do you think he's spotted us?"

          "I don't particularly care," was his nonchalant response.

          "Draco," she begged as Ron neared, "Do something."

          Heaving a sigh, Draco flicked his wand at her, not a split second before the duo appeared before them.

          "Malfoy," Ron said, looking surprised.

          "Weasley," Draco acknowledged coolly.  His gaze shifted to the two men who followed suit, face remaining placid.  "Weasley, and Weasley.  And Mudblood, of course."

          Fred and George exchanged glances.

          Ginny felt her face grow hot, and she wondered frantically why Ron had yet to explode.  It was impossible that he hadn't seen her, standing at Malfoy's side.  Or maybe he hadn't thought them to be together…yes, that must have been it.

          There was an awkward silence.

          Draco slid his arm around Ginny then, pulling her close so she was pressed tightly into the grooves of his body.  He placed a kiss into her hair, and she stiffened, eyes widening in horror, and focused on her brothers.  But to her immense surprise, the only expression which appeared in Ron's face was one of distaste.

          "And who's this, Malfoy?" He sneered.  "One of your whores, no doubt."

          Draco smiled.  It wasn't really much of a smile, but gave him the aura of one who was extremely content.  "Think what you will, Weasley," He answered.

          Ginny blinked in confusion.  Had her own brother just called her a whore?  

"Must be," Hermione chimed in.  "You can't get a girl otherwise, huh Malfoy."

"Not that you would know anything about being a girl," Draco smirked, causing her to flush hotly.

Fred stepped forward.  "Now you better listen here—"

"I don't have to listen to anyone, much less you," Draco retorted, and at the same time slid the hand, which was previously around Ginny's waist, down lower.

She gasped, stumbling forward a little, her mouth dropping open in shock.  If she was surprised already, however, nothing could have startled her more than catching her reflection in the overhanging mirror and realizing that she was no longer a redhead.  No, she had long locks of loose golden curls, bright and shiny, and…were her eyes blue?  She squinted.  

"Draco, I'm blond, " Ginny hissed before she could stop herself, and Ron snorted.

"Oh I see you've picked an intelligent one there," He remarked meanly.

Draco simply smirked at her while raking his eyes over her body appreciatively and pulling her towards him once more.  "Oh very," He said to Ron.  "And feisty in bed, too."

Hermione nearly choked.  "Spare us, Malfoy."

He raised his hand in a mock salute.  "Your wish is my command, you filthy muggle-lovers."

"Hey!" George yelled after him as he sauntered out of the store, speechless Ginny in tow, and stepped into the afternoon light.

"I cannot believe you did that," Ginny reprimanded as soon as they were out of earshot.

With great amusement, he took out his smooth wand and languidly pointed it at her.  "Well, you did tell me to do something."

She crossed her arms and glared at him.  "And you just happened to make me look exactly like Barbie?"

"Like who?"

"Like your wife," Ginny said pointedly.  "Like Pansy."

He arched an eyebrow now, one arm sliding around her and the other absently playing at her hair – red, once more.  "How many times do I have to tell you I don't love her?"

"She's not exactly unattractive," Ginny retorted, realizing she was sounding much like an immature child.

"She is," He said in the softest voice.  "Compared to you.  But then again, isn't everyone?"

Devoid of her own volition, the corners of her lips curved into a smile.  "I can't believe you just said that," she said a little dreamily.  "I must have been hallucinating."

"Why is it so hard to believe?" He asked,still so gentle.

"You're Malfoy," she answered.

"Thank you for stating the obvious," Draco smirked, and with her lips still fixed in that pleased, dizzy smile she moved towards him.

He pulled away suddenly.  "Come on," He said, seemingly not noticing her incredulous stare.  "We wouldn't want your brothers finding us here, now would we?"

She nearly whined as he tugged her away, but instead fell silent with disappointment and let him whirl her into yet another store.

~*~

          By six in the evening, Ginny was getting very well fed up.

          They had spent the entire day together – the first since they had shared their first kiss – and he had yet to kiss her.  Maybe he was afraid of others seeing, as Merlin knew she was terrified of Ron and Hermione chancing their way, but even in the most secure of places, during the most opportune of moments, she found him shying away.  And intentionally, too.

          She was standing now in Renault's Bookstore, the last stop of their day, and the incessant brushing of his light fingers against hers was driving her mad.

          "Draco," Ginny sighed, turning around.

          He stared down at her calmly.  "I'm preoccupied at this moment, if you can't tell."

          She furrowed her brow.  "With what?"

          "Thinking," He answered stoutly.  "About the ball that will not happen."

          "You know you'd enjoy it," She grinned.

          It happened again, that shine which briefly sparkled in his eyes.  "It's a possibility," He said softly, glancing at her lips in signal to kiss him.  

          Ginny refused to fall into his trap, sending him a glare instead.  _Stupid prat_, she thought, _thinking he has such power over me.  Thinking he can make me just wanton with lust and kiss him whenever _he_ wants me to.  _

          Ignoring the smirk which touched his lips, she strode towards the back of the books, pretending to be highly interested in the volumes of Muggle History stacked along the upper shelves.  She was oblivious to the fact that he was watching her arse swing provocatively with every step as he followed her.  "Draco," Ginny said conversationally, picking up the third volume.  "Don't you own these?"

          She turned, brown eyes large and innocent, to see him observing her with a predatory gleam.  In a heartbeat she was trapped against the shelf, nerveless fingers shoving the book back in its place as she glanced up at his handsome face.  "I don't own anything pertaining to muggles," he murmured, breath tickling her ear.

          Placing two firm hands upon his chest, Ginny moved to push him away.  He caught them by the wrists, gently playing with the work-hardened pads and nuzzling her cheek with his nose.  "Draco," she protested weakly.  "This isn't fair."

          "Life isn't fair," he retorted, but gently, so gently.

          There was a moment of content silence as he trailed his hands to steady her waist and studied her from under those beautiful golden eyelashes.

          "Although it seems pretty fair to me," Draco went on, driving her mad with the calmness of it all.  "I've had everything I could possibly ask for, you know.  All the galleons in the world."

          "Money isn't everything," she whispered breathlessly, struggling to sound snotty.

          "No," Draco agreed.  "But it does mean a lot.  Money gives you power.  Money gives you the time and energy to make benefit ball possible."

          A grin lit up her face.  "You'll have one then?"

          "You are such a stubborn woman," Draco said, only it was almost complimentary, and stroked her cheek with the backs of his knuckles.

          "Will you?" she asked, impatiently.

          "Maybe I will," Draco replied nonchalantly, and before she could respond he had lowered his mouth to hers, indifferent to those around them, and captured her lips in a searing kiss.

It was unlike the others they had shared before.  Though it didn't lack passion there was one more element she hadn't yet experienced – a tenderness that spoke volumes and caused her heart to beat rapidly.  He seemed more pleading in this kiss than domineering, more willing to treat her to a special gentleness because truly, he knew that was what she wanted.  

He trailed his tongue along the velvet of her lower lip lightly, so lightly, and when she gave a soft moan his own lips curled into a smile against hers.  The prevalent difference, however, was that it was a smile more pleased than satisfied, as if he was asking her to enjoy the kiss, as if he was asking her to be affected by the power that was Draco Malfoy.

As if he was asking her to love him.

          They pulled apart slowly, almost reluctantly, her world dizzy and his dancing silver eyes the only thing she could focus upon.  She was at a loss for words, contemplative and admiring until Draco countered petulantly, "And maybe I won't."

          She smacked him on the arm.

~End of Chapter 10~

A/N* Okay, okay, I know you guys all think this is near ending, but that would be terrible, because there are so many questions and secrets that have yet to be revealed!  Don't forget, there's Harry, there's Franny, there's Pansy, there's Blaise and his whole sordid affair with Vanessa Flint (think Chapter 5), and there's our favorite character of all – Sebastian.  I was just thinking that since it's Valentine's Day and all, you fandomers deserved some honest D/G fluffiness.  A pure,angst-free chapter with a touch of Unresolved Sexual Tension. Well, do review (no flames, please) and I'll be off working on the next chapter.


	11. Of Luck and Timing

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.  

A/N* I'm soooo sorry it's been so long, but I've had ACTs and AP tests and SATs…end of junior year is always kinda busy.  And plus, my brain has been on a total cramp these past few weeks.  But never mind all that, here's chapter 11 – many thanks to all those reviewers that patiently waited for this chapter.  Sorry if it's not up to par, but I'm getting a little tired of this story.  Check my LJ () for news on updates.  And I generally post little snippets of the chapter as I write them, but you need to be friended to read those since I make them protected posts, so leave a comment if you want.  Anyhow, quick notes: **Gill** – I totally laughed when I read your reviews.  **Kathryn** – Sorry I never responded to your email, but my computer's been messing up lately – you're going to have to read to find out! And all applaud for my ever-speedy beta Priscilla.  Hope you guys enjoy this chapter, and leave a review on your way out!

Chapter 11. Of Luck and Timing

          _Dear Ginny,_

_          Would have written you sooner, only I've been totally busy.  Anyways, I just want you to know that I arrived safely in __Chicago__ a few weeks ago.  Will be returning soon.  Take care._

_                                                Yours,_

_                                                Harry Potter_

_          PS. Sorry about the short letter – I'm running out of time._

* * *

_Draco –_

_          What's the meaning of this?  I told you not to contact me while I was away, didn't I?  And excuse me, but divorce papers?  You must be out of your mind, you thoughtless bastard.  Our parents will disown us.  Not that yours can, since your father's wonderful condition is detaining him and your mother is spineless, just like you.  I don't see what's spurred on this sudden change of heart – oh wait, you have no heart.  Stay out of the alcohol, and when you've figured out whatever it is that's causing this, explain it to me.  Or rather, don't.  Just don't contact me.           _

_                                                Your wife,_

_                                                Pansy Malfoy_

* * *

_Ginny, dear,_

_Well, it's been a long two months, hasn't it?_

_Let me start off by apologizing for two things.  Firstly, I shouldn't have dashed out on you the way I did.  Secondly, I should have written to you more – but you did say that you wanted to speak in person, and I really haven't had a chance to get away from work, you know?  Anyways, hope you're doing okay.  I'll be home the day after tomorrow, and we can go over whatever's on your mind, if it still is.  Terribly sorry, love._

_                                                          Yours,_

_                                                          Harry Potter._

* * *

_Draco –_

_          You're serious?  How can you possibly be serious?_

_          In any case, genius that you are, it looks like I'm going to have to spell this out for you.  Of course I don't love you, Draco.  Of course I don't want to be married to you.  It just so happens that I also don't want to die at the wrath of my father._

_And don't you dare tell me I have a fat arse when you've never even seen my damn arse._

                                      _Your wife (and it's going to stay that way),_

_                                                Pansy Malfoy_

* * *

_My dearest H –_

_          I can't stand knowing that you're in the same city and not being near you.  I can't stand not holding you in my arms when I know I can walk down the streets and find you, standing on your balcony and smoking like a chimney.  I've done some things that never should have happened, and we've both said some things that should have been left unspoken, and yet, I beg you, just let us start over.  Let us work.  _

_          Meet me at Buckingham Fountain, __8:00 PM__.  I'll understand if you don't come._

_                                                Love you always,_

_                                                F_

~ * ~

"Mr. Malfoy, sir, the flowers have been ordered."

          Draco waved the florist away impatiently, squinting back down at the parchment in hand and scowling.  _The nerve of that bint_, he thought murderously, reading over the last few lines of Pansy's letter before crumpling it into a ball and hurling it across the room.

          The florist gave a small yelp and scurried out.

         He ran his fingers through his hair with great agitation, tossing his quill down onto the desk and groaning.  He needed the divorce, and he needed it now.  It was for a reason he couldn't even explain to himself, because throughout his life he had never prided himself on excellent morals.  So what if he was bound to two women?  Wasn't that every man's dream?

          Except that he despised Pansy, of course.

          And Ginny – oh, Ginny.  Raising his head, Draco blinked at the picture he had stolen from her flat a few days ago.  _"Do you love me?"_ Her voice echoed repeatedly in his head, soft, pleading and so vulnerable.  Her eyes danced in the photo frame, those wonderful laughing eyes that made him feel dizzy and alive.

          He reached out and slammed the picture over, face down, into the chestnut of his desk.  "Why?" He wondered aloud.  "Why am I with her?"

          It felt right.  Those three words wandered to his head before Draco could even stop thinking about the subject, and he let out another groan.  He didn't want to be with her, he didn't want to feel the way he did with her, he didn't even want to kiss the damn girl.  But somehow, when she glanced at him with all the hope, innocence and honesty in the world reflected upon her face, he couldn't help but take her into his arms and touch her as if he loved her.

          But he didn't love her.  He couldn't love her.  He wasn't good for her and he knew it, and, admittedly, had taken pride in the fact that he was shagging his worst enemy's younger sister.  Eventually, Draco thought, he would have to break the sordid fact to her.  Eventually, she would have to leave his life, because they couldn't last forever.  They simply couldn't.

          _Then why are you still with her?_

          "A ball, eh?" A familiar voice cut through his thoughts, and Draco jerked his head up to see Blaise.

          "Why do you always have to creep up on me?" He scowled.

          Blaise shrugged, grinning crookedly, and took a seat across from Draco.  "Aren't we in a bad mood today," He remarked.

          "Am not," Draco retorted.

          The only response from Blaise was the lifting of his eyebrow in interested disbelief.

          "I just—I've been preoccupied, is all," Draco explained rather lamely.

          Blaise reached out and hefted the paperweight from the desk.  "I see.  Is that why I found out about your ball from Rita Skeeter?"

          Draco looked horrified.  "Skeeter?  How did she find out?"

          "Beats me," Blaise answered.  "I'm guessing from the man you're supposed to seal the deal with or whatnot spread the word.  It _is_ in his honor, isn't it?"

          Frowning, Draco dug his fingers into his head.  "I should have never let her convince me to have the damn ball," he muttered.

          "Her?" Blaise repeated.  "Her?"

          "Weasley," Draco said, making a frustrated noise in the back of his throat.  "She said…it was her idea."

          "Since when do you listen to Weasley?" Blaise demanded, his blue eyes surprised.  There was a heavy silence as realization dawned upon him and a smirk crept onto his face.  "Ohhh," He grinned.  "I forgot.  You _kissed_ her."  

          Draco pushed away from his desk and stood up abruptly.  "That doesn't mean anything, Zabini."

          "Oh come on, Malfoy," Blaise said as Draco strode across the room, twisting in his seat to look at the blond.  "You let the woman convince you into holding a ball, didn't you?"

          "I—"

          "Who knows what's next," Blaise went on, greatly amused.  "Maybe you'll even shag the girl."

          "Zabini," Draco said in a warning tone.  "It's a publicity stunt.  And a ball was a good idea, wasn't it?"

          "Maybe," Blaise countered, the smirk never once leaving his lips, "Maybe you should have a masquerade ball, Malfoy.  In remembrance."

          "Of the woman I'll never find again?" Draco harrumphed.  "Right.  To tell you the truth, it doesn't matter to me.  It was just a woman."

          "Ah," Blaise replied, still fiddling with the paperweight.  He directed his cool stare onto his friend, and commented in a low voice, "You know, I'm starting to think that this Weasley has some kind of effect on you."

          "Are you kidding?" Draco snapped.  "She's a Weasley.  She's just. . .convenient."

          "Yeah, and that's what I say about all witches, but hey, you still see me with them," Blaise retorted.

          "Blaise, the day I see you without someone on your arm is the day Harry Potter rules the earth," Draco grimaced.

          "And you could join the club too, if you got rid of that battleaxe," Blaise reminded.

          Draco glared that familiar and slightly tolerant glare reserved only for Blaise, and then Ginny.  "Don't think I haven't tried, Zabini.  Merlin knows I don't want to be attached to Pansy, but—"

          "And now you've taken to Weasleys!" Blaise remarked cheerily.

          "Just.  Convenient." The blond ground out.

          "Convenient?" Blaise echoed.  He looked uneasy all of a sudden.  "You, uh, er, you don't mean that."

          "Yeah," Draco nodded, spinning around as if in great thought.  "See, the way I see it, I've not been with many women since Pansy – as she's gone and made sure that nobody would risk their life to be with me – and Weasley, well, she's too low in society for Pansy to find out about."

          Blaise made a funny noise in the back of his throat and stared at Draco, eyes wide.  Ignoring him, he went on, pretending as if the words themselves weren't inducing painful waves of guilt upon him.

          "Weasley doesn't run in any of Pansy's social circles," Draco said.  "She's not into grace and elegance and all that, and so she's safe.  Not ideal, you see, but safe."

          "Safe?" An icy voice said.

          _Shit. _

_Well, that explained Blaise's sudden constipation._

          "I should go," Blaise muttered, springing out of his seat and past Ginny with the speed of a bludger.

          She folded her arms defensively and stared at Draco, brown eyes impossible to decipher.  "Hello Gin," Draco greeted coolly, for lack of anything better to say.

          "Don't you 'Gin' me," she replied quietly.

          He simply stared at her, not sure of what to say, and battled the millions of conflicting emotions running through his head as she twisted the hem of her dress between trembling fingers and tried desperately not to cry.  

          "It isn't what you think," He finally said.

          "I just don't understand," Ginny blurted out.  "I thought we'd gotten past the whole 'I'm a Malfoy and you're a Weasley' bit, Draco.  These past few weeks, I thought…"

          "You thought what?" He said.  "You thought I loved you?"

          The unspoken question hung in the air.

          "Do you?" She found herself whispering.

          "I told you," He answered bitterly.  "I don't know how to love."

          "Draco," she said softly, stepping close to him.  "I don't understand you.  How can you act as if you care about him, and kiss me as if you never want to kiss anyone else, and then turn and be so cold?"

          "You don't understand me," Draco replied.  "You'll never understand me, you know."

          "Am I not good enough for you?" She said, tears sparkling in her eyes.  "Is that it?  I'm not Pansy?"

          "I don't want Pansy," He snarled.

          "But you don't want me either."

          "I don't know what I want, okay?" He cried, heaving a handful of papers down at the ground.  "Frankly, Virginia, I don't see the point of your questions."

          "The point," She shot back.  "Is that you think I'm safe.  You're first and foremost a man, and you need someone to feed your sexual appetite.  And so, because I'm not good enough for your society, you figure that I can just be a side thing and nobody will ever know.  That's why you never object to dining at muggle cafes, isn't it?"

          He refused to look at her.

          "Answer me, Draco Malfoy," Ginny spat.

          "This is ridiculous—"

          "_Answer me_." 

          "Fine," Draco finally shouted, throwing up his hands.  "Is that what you want to hear?  Fine, Ginny Weasley, that's why.  I'm ashamed of you, okay?  Are you happy now?"

          "No," Ginny whispered.  "No, I'm not."

          "You know what?" Draco glared.  "I give up.  I don't even know why I'm playing along with your inane little games, Ginny.  I don't know what makes you happy, and you don't know me.  Let's just leave it at that."

          A tear finally spilled out of the corner of her eye, and she glanced away.

          "Maybe," Draco said finally.  "Maybe we shouldn't be. . ."

          "Maybe." She agreed in a small, broken voice.  "I don't even know why we're here, Draco.  You're married, and I'm – I don't know what I am to you."

          "We don't mix," Draco said.  "Like you said, I'm a Malfoy.  It's just not possible."

          "I think I should leave now," She said, meeting his eyes slowly.  The pain reflected within them made him involuntarily cringe, and all he could do was nod.

          "But you know," Ginny stopped at the door.  "I loved you more than you'll ever know.  And…I still do."

          He watched as she exited with more dignity and pride than he could have ever found in all of Slytherin house.

~ * ~

          _Stupid fucking bipolar men_.

          Ginny slumped against the door in total exhaustion, closing her eyes and letting out a sigh.  How could she have read him so wrong?  How could he have deceived her so well?

          She tossed her keys and wand on the nearest coffee table, catching her own distraught reflection in the mirror above it.  "You look like crap," she muttered to herself, absently running her fingers through her hair.

          "Ginny?" A familiar voice called out, and she straightened immediately, wiping away the tears.

          After blinking a few times to ensure that there was no more wetness around her eyes, Ginny forced enthusiasm in her voice and replied, "Harry? Is that you?"

          Harry Potter appeared in her living room, shirt and hair rumpled.  "Gin, it's been so long," he said affectionately, smiling as he saw her.

          "Oh Harry," She grinned, throwing her arms around him and pulling him close.  "It's so good to see you again.  What are you doing here?"

          He rolled his eyes.  "What kind of welcome is that?" He demanded, feigning anger.

          Ginny laughed, genuinely laughed.  In light of recent events, she had forgotten how fun Harry was to be around.  "I was just wondering why you weren't at your own place.  But I'm delighted that you're here."

          "Well actually," Harry answered, untangling himself from her arms.  "I did stop home before I came here, but Ron and Hermione are still gone and it's so lonely.  After weeks of not seeing my friends, I needed some company."

          "What about Evie?"

          "School," Harry replied a bit sullenly.  "I was sorely tempted to take her out, you know.  But that stupid woman who runs the place, what's her name again?"

"Madame Divaux," Ginny supplied.

"Right, right," Harry shook his head.  "Stupid woman wouldn't let me.  I knew I should have never trusted my child with the French.  They ruin everything."

Ginny gave a soft laugh, and gently rubbed his shoulder.  "You love her a lot, don't you?"

"Mmm," Harry said noncommittally, though his green eyes lit up.  "She can drive me absolutely mad sometimes, but I do quite miss the little brat."

          "I think she's had a great time with Auntie Hermione," Ginny assured him with a broad smile.  "And Hermione is now just clamoring to get one of her own."

          "There's only one Evie," Harry grinned.  

          "Good point," Ginny said, linking her elbow through his.  "You know, would you like some tea?"

          "I've missed the infamous Weasley tea," Harry agreed, and followed her into the kitchen.

          "So tell me," Ginny said as she reached for the tea kettle.  "How was Chicago?"

          A flicker of what seemed like guilt appeared in his large green eyes, but he looked away quickly.  "Wonderful."

          "What places did you visit?"

          "Oh you know," He replied a little uncomfortably.  "The usual.  The Sears Tower, the museums, um Buckingham Fountain and um, um, you know."

"Did you bring me back any photos?" she teased.

"Of course," was his enthusiastic response, as he quickly reached for his bag.  After a few moments of pawing through the contents, Harry looked up, thoroughly thoughtful.  "Didn't you say you wanted to tell me something before I left?"

          "Right," Ginny swallowed, turning around and setting a small cup of tea before him.  "It's actually concerning our relationship and the engagement."

          He lifted the cup up to his lips and raised an eyebrow, prompting her to continue.

          "I was just thinking about, you know, love, and I wanted to tell you something," She began uneasily.

          Her words seemed to have greatly surprised him because in that moment he dropped the cup, causing him to douse himself in steaming tea, and leapt back from the table.  "Oh Gin I'm so sorry," Harry apologized as he surveyed the mess.

          "It's fine," She replied, handing him a napkin.  "Maybe you should take a shower."

          He met her concerned brown eyes.  "Are you sure?  I hate to interrupt you again like last time."

          She waved her hand, already walking towards the living room to find her wand.  "Don't worry about it.  We'll have plenty of time to talk."

          "Don't turn around," Harry called as he divested himself of his pants and slung them over her couch.  "I'm guessing there are towels in the bathroom?"

          "Plenty," she shouted back.

~*~

          "This does not change anything," Draco spat for the tenth time that afternoon.

          Blaise glared at his friends.  "It changes everything, Malfoy, and you know that it bloody well does too.  Why the bloody fuck would you shag the woman?  How many times must I impress upon you that women never look at shagging as mere shagging?  They turn everything into some kind of 'Oh now he must fancy me' or 'He likes shagging me above all his other women' or some other fucking neurotic notion that binds us poor souls to them."

          "I wasn't thinking of you when it happened!" Draco half-shouted.

          Crossing his arms, Blaise raised an eyebrow.  "I should hope not.  That would be rather disturbing and perverted, wouldn't it?"

          A sour look from Draco's part told him that his joke was frankly not humorous.

          "Look," Blaise said, lowering his voice.  "The woman obviously fancies you.  Why are you resisting?"

          Draco lifted his head and stared incredulously.  "Why am I resisting?  _Why am I resisting?_  Blaise, why the fuck would you ask me that?"

          "Okay," Blaise said slowly.  "So you're married, but so what?  You can have a fling on the side."

          "She's a Weasley," Draco snarled.  "And a Gryffindor."

          "At least she isn't a Hufflepuff," Blaise countered.  "And besides, you can't expect to stay within the Slytherin house forever, you know.  There are only so many Slytherins that you could be with, and considering how Pansy completely blackballs the prospect of an affair with a Slytherin, I'd say Weasley's not a bad bet."

          "Not a bad bet," Draco grumbled.

          Blaise stood up.  "Malfoy, when we were at Hogwarts, how many girls did you get with?"

          "Many," was the mumbled response.

          "And of those many," He continued, "How many did you consider seriously staying with?"

          "We were teenagers," Draco said disbelievingly.  "And I was betrothed.  Was there any point in consideration?"

          "How many did you look at the way you look at Weasley?" Blaise asked in a quiet voice.

          Slowly, Draco brought his gaze up to stare at the man his friend had become, the man he suddenly didn't feel like he knew.  "Zabini," was all he could manage.

          "Think about it," Blaise said, reaching for his cloak.  "I'm no advocate of matrimony, but that could just be because I haven't found anyone worth that yet."  He paused.  "I haven't found anyone to look at with all the adoration in the world."

          "I do not look at Weasley with adoration," Draco snapped.

          Blaise simply shrugged.  "Just think about it, Malfoy.  You'd be surprised how well I know you."

          With that, he disapparated.

          Draco slumped back against the long leather couch, utterly dismayed.  "Well who would have thought," he muttered to himself.  "Blaise fucking Zabini, hopeless romantic."

          His parting words echoed in Draco's ears.

          He frowned.  He was a Malfoy, and Malfoys did not like being confused; especially not about affairs that concerned the mental well-being of others.  The only troubles that were ever supposed to plague Malfoys were power, ambition, and money – well, no, not really – but certainly not witches.  And certainly not witches with red hair, brown eyes and the lightest spattering of freckles across their nose, whose pattern he had already memorized.

          _She means something to me_.  The thought struck him with the weight of a thousand pounds.  How this development had happened he could not quite understand.  And perhaps he didn't want to understand.  But that single realization – that Weasley was indeed not nothing, that she was much more than nothing – made him limp with shock, and dare he say it, regret.

          Standing up suddenly, Draco resolved to put this matter to rest, once and for all.

He fumbled around in his pocket for a few moments before giving an exasperated sigh and reaching for his wand.  "Accio address!" A small slip of paper on which Ginny's flat number was hastily scribbled appeared in Draco's hands, and he squinted at the writing.  Ginny.  The name ran over in his mind like sweet rain on the first day of spring.  Did he love her?  No, surely not.  But did he need her?

          Draco was about to find out.

          Gathering his robe about him, he disapparated.

~*~

          "Harry, I think we should call off the engagement."

          Ginny took a deep breath, and scowled at her reflection.  _Why is this so hard?_ She knew why.  Because as soon as she told him, he would demand why.  And there was no fucking way she was going to admit to anyone in Gryffindor house that she was mad for Draco Malfoy.

          Not that it mattered much anymore, as she had obviously read his signals wrong.

          As the hot water turned on in the adjacent room, Ginny returned her attention to the doting mirror.  "Harry," she began again.  "I think we should call off the engagement."

          "Once more, with conviction," the mirror said cheerily.  "Merlin knows I wouldn't believe you, love."

          "Argh," Ginny cried.  "I don't care what you think."  She grabbed the nearest pillow from her sofa and threw it mightily across the room.

          Thump.

          Knock.

          She blinked.  Had somebody just knocked?

          Knock. Knock. Knock knock knock.

          Somebody impatient, obviously.  "Coming," She called with an exasperated sigh, and moved to retrieve the pillow.

          Knock knock knock knock knock knock knock.

          "_I said I'm coming_," Ginny shouted, and wrenched open the door-

          To see Draco Malfoy, in all his richly clothed glory, staring down at her with yet another unfathomable glint in his penetrating silver eyes.

          "Good afternoon, Weasley," He said in a voice too calm for her liking, as if nothing were wrong, nothing at all.  His gaze flickered to the tattered throw pillow in her hands, and a red blush crept up her neck.

          "Draco," was all she could manage.

          He swept into the room, and she was too stunned to realize that she had never invited him in.  Closing the door behind her softly, she turned to face him, and they stood in an impassive silence as the seconds ticked by, neither daring to look away.

          "Why are you here?" She finally asked.

          He glanced around her threadbare room, a room all too familiar, and said nothing.

          "Draco," she said warningly, and crossed her arms.

          "I'm a Malfoy," Draco said then, and her eyebrows shot up.  "Malfoys sometimes make mistakes.  They…say things…that they don't mean…sometimes.  Without meaning to."

          Tilting her head, Ginny studied him from under her lashes.  He wasn't looking at her, which could translate to either anger or just plain avoidance.  She was willing to guess that he was maybe a little…embarrassed?

          "What are you trying to say?" She asked when he stopped speaking.

          His eyes were petulant.  "Nothing," Draco scowled.  He traced a circle along the path of his robe and glared at her darkly.

          "Draco," she said in the softest voice, stepping close to him and placing a hand on his arm.  She stared directly into his chest, afraid to look up at him.  They were so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him into her, and could not do much but breathe in his familiar scent.

          "Ginny," he replied, but he sounded hoarse, almost as if he was nervous. There was a long, drawn out silence and then, suddenly, his stance grew rigid and his tone cold.  "To whom do those trousers belong to?"

          She whirled around, alarmed, to spot Harry's pants slung casually over the couch.  "Um—"

          _How was she supposed to rationally explain about Harry when the situation was so delicate?_

          "Hey Ginny, I fixed your water faucet for you," Harry's voice boomed from the bathroom, and her voice sank.  "All you need is a simple heating spell to keep the hot water supply from never ending."

          Draco turned sharply, meeting her eyes with both disbelief and anger in his face as Harry strode out, clad in a towel.  

          She closed her eyes.

          "Ginny?" Harry said in a strained voice upon spotting Draco.  "What's going on?  Why is he in our living room?"

          "_Our_?" Draco repeated.  "You live together?"

          "No," Ginny blurted out.

          "That's none of your business," Harry said at the exact same moment, and Draco's eyes narrowed to steely slits.

          "So," He said in a nasty voice.  "You've been shagging scarhead?"

          "It's not like that," she cried.

          "It's barely been five hours," He continued with more venom than she'd ever imagined possible.  "And already you've run to Harry fucking Potter."

Harry stared, befuddled, from Draco to Ginny.  "Look, Malfoy, I don't know how you got in here but I'd advise you to leave Ginny alone."

          "Harry—" Ginny began to protest weakly, never once taking her eyes off Draco.

          "No no," Harry said firmly, tucking his arm around her waist.

          Draco's eyebrows went up, but instead of the angry torrent of words she'd expected he simply set his lips into a thin line and watched as she squirmed.  "Harry, this isn't necessary," Ginny started.

          "Ginny," Harry told her calmly, turning to tilt his chin at Draco.  "I will not let this bully harm you, even if he _is_ your boss."

          "That's Potter," Draco sneered.  "Always protecting you, isn't he?  Guess it's impossible to grow up and learn to take care of yourself."

          Her eyes watered.  "Hey," Harry said sharply, still not releasing Ginny.  "I will not let you speak to my fiancée that way."

          "Fiancée?" Draco repeated.

          "That's right," Harry replied before she could possibly even think of a response.  "So I suggest you leave her home right this instant."

          "I see," He said icily.  "And how long have you been engaged?"

          "Not that it's any of your business," Harry declared, "But a few months now."

         He turned towards Ginny, as if he had something to say, but only met her eyes for a long, silent moment.  His face was impassive, but the way his eyelashes shook just slightly told her that it took him a great deal of control to keep it so.  "Draco—" She said helplessly, wanting to say something, anything.

          "You loved me, did you?" He said, oozing caustic sarcasm.  "Well if that's what love is, then I love you too, Weasley."

          "Please," she started.

          "You're fired, Weasley," He cut her off, his voice brusque and emotionless.  "I refuse to have anything Potter-related in my home."

          "It's not what you think," she cried out in desperation, twisting to get out of Harry's arms.  "Draco, just let me explain."

          "And explain what?" He snarled.  "Explain the guilt you've tried to lay upon me, explain what a total and complete hypocrite you are?  Explain why you've lied, you faithless whore?  Well let me tell you something Virginia Weasley, I don't care about your explanations.  Because I don't care about you."

          Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks now, and realization dawned on Harry's face.  "You don't mean that," Ginny whispered hoarsely.  "You can't tell me you mean that."

          He tilted her chin roughly, so she couldn't stare anywhere but into his darkening eyes.  The anger reflected in their glowering silver was evident, but what nearly killed her was the small hint of sadness, of pain, that wouldn't have been detected by anyone but her.  "I do," He hissed.  "You.  Are.  Nothing.  To.  Me."

          She could only shake her head mutely as he released her, causing her to stumble back into Harry.  

         And then the door slammed shut, echoing loudly in their ears, and Harry gazed at her in total amazement.  "Oh Gin, I—"

          With a small cry, she scrambled to her feet.  "Draco, wait," She cried out, and wrenched open the door.

          But he was already gone.

// End of Chapter 11

          A/N* Yes, I know, I'm evil.  All the more reason for you to review.


	12. The New Dawn

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

A/N A few notes beforehand: I don't know whether or not I mentioned it in the last chapter – I meant to upload a new version but yes. Anyhow, a reviewer has brought it to my attention that I use a line in my story from the movie _Firelight_. I actually didn't mean to, so I apologize, and I don't know which line it is so I just wanted to address this issue and let you know that there's a line from that movie. Giving credit where credit is due =D. Also, FFNet was being dumb about using certain symbols so instead of the standard divider I use between paragraphs you get a bunch of equal signs. Sigh. Hope it doesn't detract or anything.

Go thank my beta Priscilla, everyone.

Now onto Gin and Draco…

Chapter 12. The New Dawn

There was a long, heavy silence in Ginny's apartment.

She raised her head after a few moments of this unbearable quiet to see Harry staring at her in great confusion. "That was—" He blinked, as if he couldn't even bring himself to say the words. "That was _Malfoy_."

Ginny blushed. "Great skills of observation," she muttered.

His stunned gaze swerved from the door to her, and then back again. "You don't mean to tell me that you and Malfoy - that you and Malfoy, erm --" He stopped. "No no, that's not possible."

"What's not possible?" She snapped. "Yes, okay? Me and Malfoy. A few times, thank you. Only not anymore, obviously."

A look a great realization dawned upon his face, followed by denial, and then a flicker of disgust. "Aww Gin," Harry began.

She shook a finger in his face. "Don't start with me, Potter. I have too much on my mind."

"Well I would too if I were shagging..." He didn't seem to be capable of completing that thought. "Never mind."

"Argh," Ginny let out a great sound of agony and sank into the ground slowly. "I've gone and ruined everything, haven't I? I know I have. It's just so typical of me, I just can't do anything right these days."

A look of regret appeared on Harry's face. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Gin. Malfoy's not worth it anyways."

"He is too!" She cried. "I love him. I've never felt for anyone the way I feel for him." She turned to look at him with sorrowful eyes. "And I'm sorry, Harry, I really am. I love you to death, but I just don't love you that way."

"Does that mean," Harry hesitated. "Does that mean you can't marry me?"

She blinked, looked immensely apologetic, and shook her head silently. "I just can't, Harry," Ginny whispered. "It wouldn't be right to my heart."

He gently let her sink into his arms. "You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that," he murmured into her hair.

She pulled back, a small grin spreading on her face. "You don't want to marry me either?"

Harry shook his head morosely.

"At least something's going right today," Ginny laughed, and he laughed along with her.

"Look at how pathetic we are," Harry chuckled softly. "Relieved over the fact that we don't love each other."

"Oh I know," she agreed, smiling honestly for the first time all day. "So what brought this change of heart?"

Looking extremely sheepish, Harry took a seat on the floor beside her. "Franny, actually," he admitted.

"Ooh," Ginny's eyes lit up. "The blonde. I knew you two had something going on."

"Not really," Harry said. "Anymore, at least. She wanted me to visit her in Chicago, and I totally got caught up in the meeting - I missed the time completely. She won't answer my owls right now and I - I think I've really ruined things this time you know?"

Ginny smiled sadly. "I know exactly how you feel, trust me."

Harry got to his feet. "Come on. I know exactly what we need."

====================================================================

_"Speak to my fiancée…"_

_ "Fiancée…"_

_ "Fiancée…"_

"Bugger," Draco muttered as he stepped inside the main doors of his empty mansion. He glanced around the grand hall, feeling bereft without Ginny's exuberant presence and then berating himself for feeling so. Why should he be surprised? He chided himself. The girl had been following Potter around for ages now.

Except…

"No," Draco said to himself. "No buts."

He shrugged off his robe slowly, a robe which smelled of her apartment – of food, familiarity and of love. "Ronnie," He called out sharply, and the small house elf appeared.

"Yes master?"

He shoved the robe at her. "I want this thrown out."

"But sir," Ronnie spluttered. "This is master's best robe. This is master's favorite robe!"

"It smells," Draco said simply, and stormed past the stunned elf.

She buried her small head in the rich black fabric, and shook it sadly.

He couldn't seem to see straight as he made his way up the grand curving stairs towards his study. "Master?" Ronnie called just as he had reached the top.

"Yes?" Draco turned, irritated.

"What should Ronnie do about that?"

"About what?"

She pointed a knobby finger at the cream colored sweater dangling conspicuously off the banister. Ginny's sweater. Draco's eyes darkened as they fell upon it, and he was seized with a vengeance to tear it to pieces – or, better yet to tear Potter to pieces.

A long, pregnant pause.

"Master?" Ronnie prodded timidly.

"I'll take care of it," Draco snapped, snatching it off glancing down at the soft fabric in his hands with a heavy sigh. He stood in the empty and silent house, silent but for the continuous ticking of the clock.

"Erm, master?" Ronnie asked again, sounding anxious.

"What."

"Is Miss, erm, is Miss Weasley coming back?" She inquired, big eyes wide with dread.

"No," Draco bellowed. He turned upon her with a fierce scowl and she scattered away with robe in hand. Angrily, he whipped the sweater across the hallway, where it landed just a few inches from his bedroom door. "Damn you, Weasley," he muttered under his breath as he trudged to pick it up.

There was so much feeling inside him – anger and frustration and, dare he admit it, hurt – he wasn't sure where to channel it all or how or why he was even feeling them. Feelings were one thing Draco Malfoy had never had any problems dealing with – primarily because he didn't have many. As a child Lucius had ingrained upon him that feeling was weakness, that conscience was weakness, and yet here he was, miserable over a sodding sweater.

Okay, it wasn't just the sweater.

With a heavy sigh Draco turned the soft sweater over in his hands. He could smell the scent of her, the light honeysuckle and lemon which tickled his nose whenever she came close. He could recall the sweater on her, and the way it felt under his hands. He could picture unbuttoning it slowly, and that shy smile on her face as he did, the smile that always graced her features and caused her cheeks to pink in excitement, in embarrassment, in happiness.

He wondered then if she ever smiled that way for Potter. And then he wondered about other things she might do for Potter, which re-ignited all the anger that had just barely died down, and he threw his fist into the door. The slam resonated throughout the wing of the mansion, and Draco shook out his quickly reddening fist with some satisfaction.

_I wish that door were Potter_.

And then, as he stood cursing Potter and Weasley and Granger just for the heck of it, his hand stinging and his heart doing just about the same, a soft, surprised voice came. "Father?"

He turned, slowly and apprehensively, to see the small boy standing bewildered in his pajamas, and felt a pang of sympathy. "Did I wake you?" He asked, feeling genuinely regretful.

Sebastian roved his eyes over the sweater and the gaping hole in the door, and shook his head. "No, not really. I—" He hesitated.

Draco let the sweater drop onto the ground. "Yes?"

"Where's Miss Weasley?"

"She's not here," He said matter-of-factly. "Miss Weasley isn't coming back."

"Oh." Sebastian directed his golden gaze to the ground, but even Draco could see that he was disappointed. "Ever?"

Draco shook his head, trying his best to suppress the immense guilt washing over him.

There was a moment of hesitation, and Sebastian asked, "Why not?"

Seeing the crushed expression on the little boy's face sent a wave of feeling through Draco he had not ever experienced. He took two swift steps forward, picked him up easily, and swung him around so they were at eye level with one another. "She had to leave," Draco told him gently.

"Why?" Sebastian wanted to know. "Is it because of me?"

Draco patted him awkwardly, but comfortingly. "Of course not," He answered. "She wanted to see you, you know. Miss Weasley cares a great deal about you. But she has her own life—" a slight bitterness tinged his voice now "—with other people."

Sebastian shifted in his arms, his body small and warm. "Will she miss me, Father?"

Draco nodded. "Very much."

He seemed comforted, thoughtfully chewing on his lower lip and looking a little more at ease. "Okay," Sebastian said finally. He thought a little more, and then asked, "Will she miss you?"

Draco shook his head. "That's enough questions for tonight."

Sebastian frowned.

"Come on," Draco said, lightly tickling his tummy to induce a smile. "We're going to put you to bed."

Sebastian giggled. _I wish he were my son_, Draco found himself thinking suddenly as he pressed a kiss to where temple met downy blond hair. "You're not leaving me too, are you?" Sebastian whispered sleepily into his shoulder as he opened the door to his bedroom.

"Nope," Draco whispered back. "I'm going to be right here."

And he meant it.

====================================================================

Draco awoke to a beautiful day, sun bright and birds chirping. Blinking his eyes, the realization that Ginny was not beside him on this morning hit him mere seconds later. He hadn't noticed how accustomed he'd grown to waking up with her, and disturbing her angelic sleep by raining kisses along her neck.

_Stop thinking about her!_

He sat up slowly, looking around the room that was decidedly not his. There was a movement to his left, and as he turned his head his whereabouts were explained – he was in Sebastian's room. Thinking quickly, Draco figured that he had fallen asleep on the long chaise beside Sebastian's bed. He rose to his feet slowly, and made his way to the bed. The little boy was still fast asleep, nestled in a swath of green blankets, and Draco found an involuntary smile creeping upon his face.

In the oddest way possible, he was reminded of Ginny again. It was the smile, he realized, tilting his head to better observe the child. In sleep, both Sebastian and Ginny had small half-smiles upon their faces, smiles which hinted of dreams, peace and content. The similarity struck Draco, and furthermore irked him as he couldn't exactly toss out Sebastian as he had his robe and her sweater.

Speaking of…

The sweater still lay across the arm of the chaise, slung casually as to rub in his delicate situation. Draco scowled, about to throw it out as he had planned the night earlier, when Sebastian turned and his attention was once again turned to the youngest Malfoy. He reminded Draco of Ginny so much his heart ached.

But how was that possible?

He suddenly remembered that a long time ago, back at Hogwarts, Granger had explained in her hoity-toity voice to the muggle studies class that people acted and looked alike after living together for a long time. He hadn't paid much attention to her profession of knowledge; listening to Mudblood was not much better than being raked over hot coals, but he distantly recalled that it had something to do with muscle movement, or facial expression, or something similar to that which would easily explained why Sebastian smiled like Ginny.

_Or…_

The thought crossed his mind so briefly that Draco immediately crossed it out and patted the blankets around Sebastian; a gesture he wouldn't have done mere months ago. He hesitated, and then leaned forward to press a kiss against the boy's temple before turning to leave.

_Could it be…_

He shook his head, as if the physical act of denouncing his own thought would banish it away. It was impossible, Draco decided, and that he had even considered it to be true was absurd. The lack of sleep must have gotten to him.

Letting out a breath, Draco tore his eyes away from Sebastian and quietly exited the room.

After all, he had a sodding benefit ball that evening.

====================================================================

Miles away, far from the secluded woods of Malfoy Manor, Ginny awoke to the same beautiful day.

Her first thought was that it was cold. It wasn't that her homely flat was lacking in warmth, but more that she wasn't used to sleeping alone. Not after the past few weeks…not after Draco. A blush filled her cheeks as memories swept through her.

_Gods, I'm such a slut_, she thought ruefully as she slid up slowly, blinking to focus her eyes around her room. At least, Draco must have thought so. She only wished he knew the truth about her and Harry, and moreover the truth about what had occurred seven years ago.

It was during this train of thought that she realized someone was in her bathroom.

The past night's events came back to her then, a distant, hazy recollection. She remembered Harry, and crying, and lots of alcohol, but nothing more concrete. _Since when did I become such an alcoholic?_ Ginny thought to herself with a scowl. _I seem to be doing things I would have never done before these days. _She knew the answer of course: since Draco Malfoy had turned her life completely upside down.

With a loud creak, the door to her bathroom opened, and she jumped to see Harry, properly dressed but no doubt having just showered. There were beads of water forming in his dark hair – hair in dire need of a hair cut, and his eyelashes were frosted with a wetness that made it seem as if he were crying. His eyes, however, were bright and green and cheerful, and much less hung over than her own.

"Harry!" cried Ginny.

He grinned. "Didn't think you were planning to wake up anytime soon, you know," Harry answered softly. "You must be tired, especially after last night."

"Oh my god," Ginny looked around, panicked, glancing at the clothes scattered randomly on the ground. "We didn't – I mean, you didn't – well, we couldn't possibly…" Her voice trailed off, a look of utter horror on her face.

Harry suppressed a laugh. "No no," he assured her, taking a seat at the foot of her bed. "We didn't. Or at least I didn't. You went and got yourself stone drunk. I thought it might be wise to stay here, just to make sure you didn't apparate randomly into a certain Slytherin's lair like last time. You do remember, don't you?"

She averted her eyes, heatedly remembering. "I'm sorry," she breathed, unsure of what to say.

He patted her hand. "Don't worry about it, Gin. Look, let's get some breakfast, alright? I found out that Franny's going to be at some benefit ball in honor of her brother-in-law, and I want to see if I can catch her."

Her eyebrows flew up. "Benefit ball?" Ginny echoed. _It couldn't be…_

Harry nodded. "She told me about it when we were in Chicago, actually. Sent me an invitation, in fact. They're very hard to come by, I hear."

"Did you happen to find out who her brother-in-law is, per chance?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"Um," Harry thought deeply. "Brenson? Bronson? Something like that."

"Bronson!" she exclaimed, nearly jumping out of bed. "Yes, Bronson! Harry, Draco's throwing that ball!"

He looked at her with great disbelief. "You don't mean to tell me—"

"Harry, I _have_ to," Ginny declared. "I absolutely have to, or I'm never going to forgive myself."

"I'm not even sure I want to go, let alone take you!" Harry protested. "Look, Malfoy isn't any good for you—"

"I'll decide who's good for me, thank you," Ginny snapped.

He stared at her, wide-eyed, and she sighed.

"Okay, I'm sorry," she said after a pause. "I didn't mean to yell at you. It's just that I—I'm so confused, Harry. I hate it. I hate not being in control. I hate all this, I hate him, only I don't and that's the problem and—"****

He pressed a finger to her lips and gently silenced her. "It's okay, Gin," he said quietly. "If you really want to go, we can go. Though…if you ask me, Malfoy still isn't worth it. Don't you remember Hogwarts?"

"Of course I do," she sniffled. "He made my life hell. I hated him, absolutely despised him." She raised tear-filled eyes to meet his astonished ones now. "But when I'm with him, I seem to forget all of that, you know? It's as if…none of that ever happened. As if I'm meant to be with him."

Harry was quiet with thought. "You know," he finally said. "Ron would kill me for taking you…"

She lunged forward and threw her arms around him, a wide smile spreading across her face. "Oh thank you Harry," she gushed. "Thank you!"

====================================================================

There was no sign of Malfoy.

They had been roaming the Manor for nearly an hour now, and Harry was, as Ginny noticed, getting restless. She knew he wanted to find Fran, and she knew he was too noble to leave her. So with great hope in her heart, they wandered together in search of a once-loathed blond head.

An hour ago, there had been so much more hope.

"So this is how the other half lives," Harry had muttered when they stepped onto the great rolling lawns of Malfoy Manor. There were lights strung all around, the estate was alive with thriving, bustling bodies, and nobody paid much notice to Harry and Ginny. She still remembered the thudding of her heart, as if Draco would appear right before her.

"Do I look okay?" She'd asked self-consciously, touching her hair and smoothing the silky white folds of her gown.

He had grinned at her. "My heart belongs to Fran, Gin, but you look stunning."

But it seemed as if he had learned of her presence already, and sought out to avoid her.

"Gin—" Harry started.

And then she spotted him, and her breath hitched.

Both of them fell quiet.

"I'm going to go find Fran, okay?" Harry said quietly, following her gaze. "I trust you can get home fine.

She barely heard him as he hurried up another flight of stairs, into the dining room, which overlooked the ballroom.

Draco was strolling out onto the balcony directly adjacent to the ballroom. Dressed to the nines in robes that accurately reflected the Malfoy wealth and opulence, she thought she had never seen him look so perfect, so much like an untouched angel, before.

Her heart skipped a beat.

Not even thinking about what she was doing, Ginny crouched behind the bushes, rearranging the white dress so it wouldn't touch the ground, and watched.

He was so close to her she wanted to scream, to touch him, to do something that would make her presence known. But simultaneously fearful and nostalgic with his overwhelming scent, she simply knelt in silence and watched. "Draco," a feminine voice filled with seduction and want rang out. "Where are you going?"

As Draco turned to greet a beautiful brunette with cascading curls, Ginny felt a deep pang of jealousy. Said jealousy, however, was quickly relieved as he snapped, "Out, Rianna."

"Oh," Rianna let out a breathy sigh. "I was thinking you would want to dance."

"You thought wrong," he said shortly, and pulled away from her. As the woman disappeared back into the throng of loud people with great disappointment, Ginny felt a small smile creep upon her face.

He glanced around for a moment, and then shut one of the French doors so he could lean upon it. With one hand, Draco held a flute of wine; with the other, he loosened his tie in great frustration. She could see on his face relief to have been released from the company of his guests – guests like Rianna, she thought darkly.

The nimble fingers she knew so well tapped lightly along the slender wine glass, and he seemed focused on something far away, in the stars maybe. Admiring the line of his lean legs through pressed charcoal trousers, she let her eyes drift up to the narrow elegance of his hips, to the sinew of his arms, to his broad chest and aristocratic face.

Except…something was off.

Then she noticed: there were lines around his stormy mercury eyes, eyes so silver they glistened even from the distance, and she realized that never had she seen him so tired. He seemed fatigued, beaten in life.

"Oh Draco," she whispered softly before she could stop herself, wanting so much to kiss those lines away.

He turned his head sharply, as if he had heard her, and scanned those unfathomable gray eyes over where she was hidden, in the bushes. He frowned, and her heart raced, but she knew he couldn't possibly see her. He couldn't, she told herself, he just couldn't.

He took a step towards where she was hidden.

"Mr. Malfoy," a deep voice came from inside the ballroom, and then Draco's fascination with the bushes was lost. While Ginny watched, disappointed and relieved in equal parts, he turned to face Mr. Bronson as he stepped out onto the balcony.

====================================================================

Draco Malfoy was tired of the crowd.

He wove his way through masses of chattering, dancing people – his guests, as the ball was a smashing success – and headed for the refuge of the cool night air. He couldn't entirely pinpoint what he was tired of, as never before had he objected to showing off his immense wealth. But tonight, for some reason, nothing seemed to appease him.

The moon was at its brightest as he stepped onto the balcony, a sprawling stone balcony which had steps leading down to the grassy courtyard below. Never before had solitude and darkness looked so appealing to him.

"Draco." With great annoyance, Draco turned to see Rianna, the ill-reputed witch who had been following him around all night. After a few pointed replies to her dimwitted attempts at seduction she seemed to receive the point that he did not quite want to shag her, and she slinked back to the party. He watched her leave without much regret in his mind. She was suffocating him, the ball was suffocating him, his tie was suffocating him, the world seemed to be suffocating him.

Well. He could do away with the tie, at least.

At one point, he would have found Rianna incredibly attractive, with her creamy skin and silky hair and the utter disregard she gave for Pansy's half-minded threats. Such disregard, however, could only mean one thing when it came to women – that they either really wanted his money, or that they…

_Except Ginny doesn't love me_, Draco reminded himself pointedly. _She's about to become Mrs. Fucking Potter._

He leaned against the door then, greatly exasperated and even further tired. Why did he have to think of Ginny? Why? Slowly, he closed his eyes, the wine glass cool against his hand, and tried vehemently to banish all thought of her from his mind.

"Oh, Draco."

His eyes flew open. Hallucination, Draco reasoned, as _she_ couldn't possibly be here. She first of all didn't have an invitation, and second of all…just couldn't. A rustling came from the bushes, which could have easily been the wind, but for some reason his attention was drawn to the shrubbery. A part of him he refused to acknowledge hoped for the possibility…

"Mr. Malfoy." Draco turned sharply to see just about the last person he could possibly want to see: Mr. Bronson.

"Good evening," He forced, curving his lips into a polite rendition of a smile.

Mr. Bronson did not return the smile. "I see you've been dancing quite a lot tonight," he said tightly.

"Yes…" Draco agreed slowly.

"Where's your wife, Mr. Malfoy?" Mr. Bronson demanded. "Don't tell me all you gave me on family was false. You wouldn't have possibly _lied_, would you?"

Draco paused. How the hell was he supposed to get out of this one? "Well she—"

"And don't tell me that she wouldn't show up," Mr. Bronson continued. "Such an important event, wouldn't you agree? No _happily-married, logic-minded_ spouse would _ever_ miss such an event."

"Right," Draco said, for lack of better words.

"So where is she?" Mr. Bronson said with a greatly displeased look upon his face.

"Er…"

"Right here," A voice called out, and both men were surprised to see Ginny hurrying towards them, wind ruffling her red tendrils. Part of him wondered if he really was hallucinating, as if all his thinking of her had produced the real thing. Then, looking at Bronson, Draco knew he wasn't.

She stopped gracefully next to Draco, and glanced up at him with a small smile, her brown eyes soft and pleading. On his part, Draco found himself rendered speechless. His head was spinning with questions…with whys and hows and whens…and yet, as she stared at him with such tenderness in her eyes he wasn't able to say anything, wasn't really able to do anything but nod along.

A little hesitantly, she took his hand and smiled at Mr. Bronson. A heat jolted up his arm at the familiar contact. "I'm sorry I haven't been able to greet you, sir," she said sincerely, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in her own stomach. "But I've been awfully busy. You know how balls go."

Mr. Bronson grinned back at her. "Of course, Mrs. Malfoy," he answered, sounding much more relaxed. "For a moment there, I thought…"

"I know," Ginny said before he could finish the thought. "But don't worry – Draco wouldn't lie to his customers like that."

"Of course," Mr. Bronson flushed, and nodded towards Draco. "Do forgive me. Enjoy yourselves." With a slightly embarrassed chuckle, he tottered back to the party.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Draco tore his hand away. "What are you doing here?" He hissed, taking two quick strides to the doors and shutting them both loudly.

She hesitated, taking the moment to observe him from a close vicinity. In the pale moonlight his skin seemed almost translucent, and gave him an ethereal touch which made her heart beat slower and faster all at the same time. His eyes, however, were icy – like a cutting steel blade. He was so beautiful, she thought, but so cold.

"I—I just need you to listen," she blurted out, all eloquence previously rehearsed flying out of her head. "Please."

He glared at her. "How did you get in?"

"Draco—"

"How," He said once more, darkly, sharply, angrily.

She couldn't meet his eyes, as she couldn't exactly lie. "Harry had an invitation," she admitted, watching his face harden even more. "Mr. Bronson's wife is his girlfriend's sister—" she hastened to add.

"Oh so what are you two, a pair that sets out to break everyone's hearts now?" Draco snarled.

Ginny blinked, and he immediately wished he hadn't spoken. "I wasn't aware I had that effect on you," she said softly.

"You don't," he cut her off. "Don't overestimate your appeal, Weasley."

"Draco, why are we at this?" Ginny all but cried, reaching for him. "I've been miserable with you, if you would just listen to me—"

"What's there to listen?" Draco shouted, pushing her away. "You're engaged to Potter. Or are there any more you haven't told me? No, don't answer that. I don't care. Have a nice life, Weasley."

"I love you," she choked out, tears welling in her eyes.

"You're a horrible liar," he said icily. "I don't want you to love me, Weasley. In fact, I don't want anything from you. As of now I'm banishing you from ever stepping foot on this property again."

"Draco—"

"Why don't you just stop talking?" Draco sneered. "Don't you get it, Weasley? You think you've hurt me, don't you? Well maybe I should enlighten you yet again, but I don't give a fuck what you do. I've had plenty more beautiful women than you, plenty _richer_ women. Like I said, you were just convenient. One of many. Ron's stupid little sister. A conquest. And not even a good one, at that."

Tears were spilling freely down her cheeks now, her chest throbbing as she tried in vain not to show how much he was affecting her. Her eyes were red and swollen and her cheeks blotchy. Her hair was now matted to her face, the meticulous curls falling out of their pomade grasp, and she was aware how she must look to him, how incomparable she must be next to witches like Rianna.

In Draco's opinion, Ginny had never looked so beautiful, and his heart had never been in so many pieces. ****

"Fine," she screamed at him, as if that would get him to stop talking. "I get you, okay? I understand. You can stop now. I just—I—"

Not finding the right words, she fumbled in her purse to produce a small, glistening object. She rolled it between her fingers for a moment, using her free hand to wipe away some of her tears. "Here," Ginny whispered, her voice hoarse.

"I don't want anything of yours," Draco snarled, feeling as if he were under an Unforgivable with every word. "I've been trying to forget all of you inane Weasleys pollute the Wizarding community ever since Hogwarts."

She blinked, cheeks utterly streaked with the wetness of her pain now. "Okay," she said quietly. "Except this isn't mine. I guess—I guess I thought it was for a while. Or that it could be. But I see now that I was wrong." Ginny reached for his limp, cold hand, and pressed it into his palm.

He jerked at her touch, and she backed away. "I won't bother you again, Malfoy" she promised in a soft, heartbroken voice that jabbed at his very soul. Turning on her heel, she fled into the darkness, away from Malfoy Manor.

Draco watched her leave, his stomach feeling like lead. Everything was so far away – the party, the voices. Alone on his balcony, it seemed he was alone in the world, one man in the sad glow of the moon. He watched the white of her dress until it disappeared, until he could see no more but blackness and blackness was, after all, all that he truly knew.

He opened his palm slowly to find a small silver cufflink glittering up at him, a serpent embossed lightly with the letter M. Draco nearly dropped it. He would recognize that cufflink anywhere, the cufflink he woke up seven years ago without. If Ginny had the cufflink, that would mean…

His head snapped up, but she was already gone.

End of Chapter 12

A/N Right right, I realize this has been long in the coming but hey, less time than before, right? I've had AP Testing and ACTs and PSAEs and SATs and ARGH. So yes, I'm sorry, but it's done! Be happy! Just a note – it's probably going to take me a while to write the next chapters because since I've got finals in 3 or so weeks, so all my teachers get the brilliant idea that oh! There's no time left! Let's cram a million bazillion tests and projects in! And of course, after I finish all those projects I've got finals to study for…and SATs the weekend before…so again, apologies ahead of time. For now, enjoy this chapter…and don't forget to REVIEW! I would do individual thanks but I'm sooo swamped right now…I really do appreciate every one of your reviews…they make my day in this time of great insanity.


	13. Draco Malfoy, Private Eye

A/N This is the un-beta-ed version you have here, because I figured you guys have been waiting due time for this, and where is Priscilla? Anyways, exams are OVER so I'll try to update faster than I have been this year; however, I've still got summer school/college apps so it won't be nearly as fast as Indentured Servitude. I hope you guys stick with this story!

Disclaimer: not mine, yada yada

Chapter 13. Draco Malfoy, Private Eye

In the backdrop of early morning sun, the Flint Mansion stood impressively large. The windows all shaded with heavy brocade and the doors old and solid, Draco Malfoy could guess that they were nearly equally wealthy as he, even years later, even after Marcus Flint had gone jobless.

He had not been here for seven years.

With some reservation, Draco pushed the heavy brass knocker and glanced around uneasily. Framed in daylight things seemed much different than he had remember them to be – it was more quiet, more restful, more welcoming. After a few long moments of wait, the door finally opened and a small house elf poked her head out. "Master is busy," She squeaked, and began to shut the door.

Draco lodged his foot in between, preventing the door from closing on him. Much to the house elf's dismay, he pushed it open and forced himself in, glaring all the while. "Master is busy!" She squeaked once more.

"Don't care," Draco said coolly, brushing off his robes from the effort.

"But sir!" The house elf all but pleaded. "Brenda is under strict orders not to let anyone in, Brenda can't!"

"Look here—" Draco began, but it wasn't necessary. There was a loud giggle that came from the study directly left of him, and in two quick strides he was at the doors.

"No!" The house elf shrieked.

Without any reservation, Draco flung the grand white doors open. There were people on the table – two, to be specific – and the one on top, none other than Marcus Flint himself, jumped up, looking none too pleased. He was dressed in sleep robes, which were still cast open, and his dark hair was tousled. The years had not been too harsh on him, and he looked as always – tall, burly, and tan.

"Master!" the house elf shrieked once more. Marcus bustled out of the room, pushing both Draco and the elf out with him, and Draco followed suit with easy calm.

"What is going on?" Marcus demanded, glaring at her. "Did I not tell you that I wish to be left alone?"

"Flint," Draco said, and it was then that Marcus saw who had arrived.

The scowl upon his face broke into a wide smile, and he looked immediately sheepish. "Draco Malfoy," Marcus said. "Well well. It's been what, six or so years since you went to Canada?"

"Just about," Draco said amiably.

"Marcus," A feminine voice drawled from inside the study, and a stunning blonde appeared, a veela. She too was dressed in sleep robes, and she cast a sultry, appreciative glance towards Draco, raking her green eyes up and down his body. "You didn't tell me that we had company, Marcus."

Draco raised an eyebrow at his old schoolmate, for in all he had remembered and heard about Vanessa Flint, this was decidedly not her.

"Um, listen, Malfoy, this isn't exactly the best time," Marcus said.

"Oh no," said the blonde, her voice two octaves lower as she pressed herself closer to Draco. "I think this time is perfectly fine." She grinned seductively and raised a red nail to trail down the little bit of skin which peered through Draco's shirt.

Draco's eyebrow only grew higher, and he smirked at Marcus. Catching her hand in his, he firmly drew it away from his chest. "I don't think we've been introduced."

She pouted. "Names are so overrated—"

"Melissa," Marcus said sharply then. The expression reflected in his quickly darkening blue eyes said that clearly he was not pleased about the situation.

"Oh Marcus," she continued to pout. "You never let me have any fun."

"Fun?" Marcus growled. "You call fun throwing yourself all over my old schoolmate like some cheap whore? Look at yourself."

Her emerald eyes grew wide in indignation. "You are such a hypocrite," she shouted at him. "You think I'm throwing myself over someone else? Do I have to remind you, Marcus, that you are _married_?" Now her voice cracked in histrionic sadness, and she threw herself into Draco. "It's so hard for me to watch you with her all the time," she sobbed from his chest. "At all the parties and balls, you always dance with her. I hate being the other woman, I hate it!"

"Bad time?" Draco asked dryly as Melissa continued to sob into his robes, and Marcus glared at him.

"This," Marcus groused, "was why I told my house elves to lock the doors."

"You always do this," Melissa sobbed dramatically.

"Oh shut it," Marcus hissed. "Do you want everyone to hear?"

"You think everyone doesn't know?" Another female voice drawled from the top of the stairs, and all three turned to see Vanessa Flint gazing down at them with a flicker of disgust in her dark eyes. She looked as if she had just risen from sleep, clothed in a floor-sweeping robe of dark blue silk, but her long brown hair was tied into a loose chignon at the bottom of her neck, a few tendrils escaping its hold to frame an impassive face. She was still every bit as beautiful as Blaise had described, Draco thought, and yet she couldn't begin to compare to Ginny.

Marcus swore under his breath, and only now did Melissa remove herself from Draco's chest to grasp his hand protectively and glare at Vanessa.

She descended down the stairs with enviable cool. "Draco," she chose to address the less offending guest first. "It's been so long," she said warmly, clasping his hand when she reached him and sending him a dazzling white smile. "How have you been?"

"Good," was his automatic response. "Pansy speaks highly of you, Lady Flint."

Vanessa laughed lightly. "I would hope so. Do send her my regards." Now she turned slightly, and focused her withering gaze on Melissa. "I don't think I know you," she said coldly.

Melissa glanced at Marcus for guidance, who was staring at his wife in shock. "I didn't know you were home, Vanessa. You're not supposed to be back until tomorrow."

She examined her nails as if she couldn't care less, but Draco saw the flicker of pain in her eyes. "I came back last night, in fact," she informed him in that same chilly voice. "I would've told you, except you were busy." She paused. "But you would know that, of course. And so would she."

"Vanessa—" Marcus started pleadingly.

"Why don't you introduce me to your mistress?" Vanessa said, and gave Melissa such a stare that the blonde nearly shrank.

"Um—" Marcus glanced warily between the women.

Melissa straightened, held out a manicured hand. "Melissa. Melissa Wellington."

"Melissa," Vanessa repeated thoughtfully, turning to look at her husband. "Okay then, Melissa. I'm going to give you exactly thirty seconds to get your skanky, slutty, money-loving arse out of my mansion, off my property, and away from my husband before I hex you into oblivion. Got it?"

"Why, you—" Melissa began, eyes flashing.

"Thirty. Twenty-nine. Twenty-eight."

"You aren't serious!" She cried.

"Twenty-seven. Twenty-six. Twenty-five," Vanessa continued, her eyes never leaving her husband's face. Calmly, she removed her wand from the robe, and rubbed its tip against the silk as if polishing it for better aim. "Twenty-four. Twenty-three."

With the little integrity she had left, Melissa fled, slamming the door behind her, and leaving both men in shock.

"Well that takes care of that," Vanessa said coolly after a moment of silence. She turned towards Draco, smiling. "And how may I help you, Mr. Malfoy?"

He blinked. "I was actually looking for some of your records. Of a ball you threw, seven years ago."

"The masquerade ball," she supplied.

"Right," Draco nodded. "If you still have the invite lists, and records of who showed up and—"

"Of course," Vanessa said. "They're all located in the back library. Would you like me to direct you to it?"

"If you would be so kind."

"Vanessa—" Marcus seemed to have recovered from his shock now. "Dear, I think—"

"Marcus," she cut him off scathingly. "We've a guest right now. We'll talk later."

His mouth opened and closed helplessly. "I'm sorry," he managed.

Her lower lip curled in disgust, and Vanessa shook her head. "You always are, Marcus." Beckoning towards Draco, she strode away from the main hall into the far stretches of the mansion.

"Sorry, Flint," Draco said apologetically before following her.

* * *

The Flint Record Library was a small, round room that reached three or four stories up, the walls lined with bookshelves. There was a floating platform along the side on which one could stand to reach the higher books, Vanessa explained. She paused thoughtfully to scan her eyes over the books, and then jumped on and soared towards the second level. "I think this might be it," she called, and tossed it down to Draco.

He opened the dusty binding slowly. "1857," He told her with a grin. "I think maybe not."

She laughed, and continued her search. Draco set the book down beside him and watched her easy grace with curiosity. She didn't seem a woman who had just caught her husband carousing with another witch, and yet there was something about the way she moved, the way she spoke, that suggested she was not as indifferent as she would've liked to seem.

"Vanessa," Draco said after a moment's silence. "Doesn't it bother you?"

There was a pause. Then, she plucked a red book off the shelf and soared back down to the ground. "What?" Vanessa asked. "Marcus and Melissa?"

Draco nodded.

"Of course," she shrugged. "All his mistresses bother me, Draco."

"All of his…Jesus, Vanessa, why are you still with him?" Draco wanted to know. "Don't you ever think about leaving him? Don't you ever think about…about Blaise?"

Vanessa flinched at the name of her former love. "Is that why you're here, Draco?" She demanded, eyes flashing. "On behalf of Blaise? Because if so, you should just leave, right now."

"No," Draco said quickly. "I'm really here for the records. Blaise seems to have gone MIA on me, to be honest. I just don't see why you put up with this shit." He paused, thinking of Harry in Ginny's room, and added a little bitterly, "I don't see why anyone would put up with this shit."

She sat down slowly. "You speak from personal experience."

"I understand that sometimes the person you fall in love with isn't who they seemed to be," Draco went on, ignoring her entirely. "But wouldn't you cut and run when you saw their true colors? Why stay? Why endure the pain?"

Flipping through the yellowed parchment of the book, Vanessa seemed to be deep in thought. "You know," she finally said. "Whether you believe it or not – whether Blaise believes it or not – I love Marcus. And I knew about his womanizing before we married."

He took a seat beside her. "Then why did you marry him?"

She inhaled deeply. "Sometimes, in love, you have to make concessions. Compromise."

"But compromising your integrity?" Draco said.

Vanessa turned her steady gaze upon him. "Nobody can take my integrity away from me. Of course it hurts me that he has to seek other women. Of course people talk. 'Whatever is wrong with Vanessa that she isn't enough for Marcus?' I found myself asking that very question whispered by our friends when I first found out. I wanted to leave him, you know. So much that it hurt."

"Why didn't you?" Draco was still puzzled.

"I realized that I didn't want to," Vanessa replied. "I realized that Marcus has this complex of keeping sex and love separate. And I realized, in the most demented way…that he does love me. You wouldn't understand. Nobody does unless they've been in this position." Now she held out the book towards him with a small smile. "Your masquerade ball, Draco."

He gently removed the book from her hands, looked at her for a long, thoughtful, nearly disbelieving moment, and then directed his attention to the records.

"You know," Vanessa said. "Just a word of advice, Draco. Love clouds the way you see things. I don't know who this woman is, but she obviously has some effect on you. You may be…wrong about things."

Draco shook his head. "I'm not wrong about her, Vanessa."

She fell quiet. "If you say so." Gathering her robe around her, Vanessa stood up and made her way towards the door. "I trust you'll see yourself out?"

Draco nodded. "Vanessa…" he began hesitantly. She arched an eyebrow, and he faltered. "Thank you. And…if you're sure about Marcus…"

Again, she flashed that stunning smile. "I am. Nice seeing you, Draco," she said softly. "Tell Blaise I say hi." And then she disappeared in a whirl of blue.

The door clicked shut and Draco bent over the massive book, trailing his finger down the words. "Guests invited…" he muttered. "No…ah, guests in attendance. Here we go."

From his pocket he removed a small, stone bowl. A simple incantation caused it to swell in size, until it rested easily on his lap. "Aquarius Lumos Retrevos," he muttered, and then twas water inside – murky, dark water that reflected his face until it started swirling.

"Alaina Abbott," Draco said, reading off the first name from the list, and a woman appeared in the water. She was at the door, handing her invite to the butler and receiving a mask. Good, he thought, it worked. Retrieving the list, he gave a sigh. There was a long way to go…and he had all the time in the world.

* * *

253 names later, Draco was not any closer to finding Ginny. His first thought was that she had lied – but then, she had no reason to. Nor had she any other means of attaining his cufflink. Sighing, he plodded on.

"Cassandra Opal." _No_.

"Christina Overton." _No._

"Helena Overton." _No_.

"Jane Padderson." _No no no!_

"Pansy Park—"

He stopped when he saw the next name. Pansy had been there? Draco almost asked aloud, racking his memory for any recollection of seeing her there. No…she hadn't be, she couldn't have been, he realized. That was the night Pansy had flooed to France for her cousin's wedding…Babs Parkinson, that atrociously ditzy blonde cousin of hers.

He remembered this all very well. She had a fit the night before, trying to pack just about everything into that suitcase of hers. She'd insisted there was a charm for it all to fit, and he'd insisted otherwise. Annoyed at the whiny sound of her voice, he'd cast an incantation to make all her clothes swell and cursed her to a miserable time in France. It was then that Pansy had started to cry – and that was _not_ a pretty sight – and Draco had stormed out to drink his annoyance away.

He remembered coming back in the late afternoon. The house elves were cleaning up in the parlor – apparently Pansy had a guest over that day – and he'd stormed to her room, demanding to know why she hadn't left, why she was entertaining guests instead. Vaguely, he recalled her making some snarky comment about their heir, or something of the sort. All he really remembered from that scene was that he was half drunk, and she had been more righteously pompous than ever. When she left, he'd watched her, jumping in elation as the floo network coughed up ash behind her.

No, Draco rationalized, she'd definitely been in France that evening.

Then why was her name on the list of guests in attendance?

"I don't understand," he muttered. "Why would she be there? Why would it say her name here? Why—why Pansy Parkinson?"

The water began to swirl.

His eyes were drawn to the image formed. The soft layers of beautiful dress which framed a soft swell of breast, the dangling necklace which danced around creamy skin, the shining red hair – it was all too easily remembered. It couldn't be…

And then her face appeared, brown eyes wide and shy, and Draco jumped up. The basin tumbled to the ground, water splashing and edges cracking. The damage caused it to suddenly shrink, until it was once more its small, dry size. Draco fell to his seat, burying his head in his hands, and groaned in frustration. It was all becoming clear to him…and he didn't like any of it.

Seven years ago, he'd slept with Ginny Weasley at Marcus Flint's masquerade ball while she pretended to be Pansy Parkinson.

Why why why?

There was only one person who could help him find out, Draco realized.

Cleaning up the mess he'd made, Draco pocketed his wand and resolved to find Ginny.

* * *

"So how are you feeling?"

Ginny looked up from her tea to see Harry staring at her sympathetically, wind ruffling his dark hair. They were seated at the _Café du Ciel_, warm in the soft afternoon light and surrounded by cheerful. "Fine," she said as cheerily as she could, but somehow wished that the sun wasn't so bright, that the world wasn't so happy, that Draco wasn't terribly upset with her.

"You don't look fine," Harry said bluntly. "You look like you haven't slept in years and you haven't eaten in—"

She held up a hand, a smile on her face despite herself. "I know, I know."

He seemed fine with her reply. "You know that I still don't approve of Malfoy, right?" Harry said suddenly.

Ginny laughed, out loud this time. "Harry, neither do I."

He nodded seriously, and then proceeded to confide in a whisper, "I think I need to go to the loo."

"Go," she mouthed, mocking him, and he tossed his napkin at her.

Harry rose from the table, hesitating one more time. "Are you sure you're okay?" He asked again.

"Harry, if you don't stop, I will seriously hit you," Ginny said affectionately.

"Okay," Harry nodded seriously. He seemed to see something in the distance, because his green eyes lit up. "Emmett!" He called loudly, and Ginny turned to see handsome man strolling towards them, blue eyes mildly confused until they landed upon Harry. He was tall and dressed in casual clothes, a healthy glow radiating which attested to his hours in the sun.

Tan, she thought, unlike Malfoy.

"Ginny, this is Emmett Lark," Harry introduced when he had reached their side. "Emmett, this is Ginny."

Emmett frowned. "I thought you were seeing a blonde, Potter."

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "I am. Gin and I are just friends. Franny is…" He had a moony look in his eyees "…great. How's Robin?"

At the mention of his wife, Emmett's face broke out into a wide smile. "She's expecting," he said with genuine happiness that brought a pang of nostalgia to Ginny's heart.

"Your wife's name is Robin?" Ginny asked, to change the subject off their blossoming romance. She couldn't explain it, nor put her finger on it, but the thought of love and marriage was just something she didn't want to ponder over. "So her name is Robin Lark, then?" she continued, aware of how inane she must sound. "Robin as in a bird, and lark as in a bird, so…bird squared?"

There was a look of absolute mortification on Harry's face. "Um, sorry Emmett, Gin's not feeling well today."

Emmett shot her a strange look. "I'll say."

"Look," Harry cleared his throat. "I was just on my way to the loo."

"Me too," Emmett said quickly, moving away from Ginny.

With a sigh, Ginny sat down as the two men retreated. "Great," she muttered. "I'm a man repeller."

Not that she wanted anyone but Draco anyways.

* * *

Draco arrived at the café just as Harry departed. It had taken him an eternity to track Ginny, an eternity equalling thirty minutes and four different location spells. In the end, he had realized that he did have something of hers in possession – the beautiful sapphire necklace that he could only assume belonged to her, as it seemed she was the woman he'd slept with, and the powerful emotive charm attached to it had easily given him coordinates to where she was.

He paused behind a leafy plant which shielded him from her view. She was seated morosely, twirling her fingers around the straw of her drink without aim or purpose. The light breeze tickled her silky strands, which she'd let down today, and his breath involuntarily hitched as those delicate fingers brushed them away from her face.

God she was beautiful, he thought.

There was an expresson of sadness on her face, and he wondered if she knew that. She didn't seem to be staring at anything in particular, her normally lively eyes lost and dark. He had an overwhelming urge to speak with her, to touch her, to do anything.

It was now or never.

"I should get back," he heard a familiar male voice say, and Draco jerked to see Harry Potter just barely in front of him, in deep conversation with another wizard. He shrunk further behind the vegetation, hoping that scarhead couldn't spot him.

"Yeah," the other man replied. "Bring your woman over someday, and we can you know, have dinner or something."

_His woman?_ Draco felt his blood boil. How could Ginny let this creep refer to her that way?

"Sounds nice," Harry agreed, green eyes twinkling. "But you know, she's more into staying in these nights, if you know what I mean."

Draco clenched his fists and tried hard not to pound them into the cinderblock.

The man chuckled. "Oh, Potter. I knew I remember you were with her. See, my mind's not playing tricks on me."

"It's a complicated situation," Harry said with a sorry look on his face. "It's getting less complicated, but you know, I'm still ironing out the kinks. I thought for a moment that…I'd lost her…"

The image of the three of them in Ginny's worn flat resurfaced in Draco's mind.

"Keep on to her," The man advised. "She's a looker, that one."

"And a minx in bed," Harry added, to which they both erupted into laughter. "I just can't get enough of her."

Draco was pretty sure the blood had all gone to his head, because everything was red.

"Well, I'll let you get back," the man said cheerfully, and with a few more casual "see you later"s they parted ways.

Draco straightened and watched as the dark-haired man took a seat with Ginny, adjusting his glasses and grinning beatifically. _No way in hell am I going to approach those two_, he thought angrily, blood pressure rising sharply when she smiled at him.

He turned on his heel and strolled out of the restaurant. No, he was going to have to find the answers to his questions by some other means.

* * *

Four hours and three stricken travel agents later, Draco had menaced the address of Pansy's suite in Aruba out of the traveling company she'd booked with. No doubt she had every intention of wasting his money while they were married, because the hotel was perhaps the most lavish thing he'd ever seen in his entire life- aside from his own house, of course.

"Parkinson," he practically growled to the clerk.

_A muggle resort! Why would she pick a muggle resort?_

"Are you Parkinson?," the clerk asked, without batting an eyelash or even looking at him. Her eyes remained focused on her nails, and the file she was currently raking over them.

"Husband," he spat out. The word tasted acid.

"Then you should have the key," she said in that same prissy voice.

"I don't, obviously," Draco snarled.

"Too bad."

"Do you know who I am?"

"Enlighten me."

A deep, tension-filled pause.

Draco took a deep breath. He was obviously not going to get her attention by threatening her, as she'd proved with her uncaring attitude. _Filthy muggles_. Fine, he was going to have to resort to…other tactics.

Clearing his throat, Draco leaned forward and lowered his voice to a husky drawl. "Are you sure you can't help me?" He asked.

She looked up this time, blue eyes growing wide as she took in his aristocratic face, his lean arms and assuming presence. The nail file dropped to the ground.

_I do have that effect on women, don't I? Oh for fucks sake, I'm flirting with a muggle._

"Um…er…sorry about that, sir," she stammered.

_Oh close your mouth and get in line._

"Key?" Draco said sweetly.

Wordlessly, she handed it over to him. "I'm really sorry, sir, I…please excuse me for…"

"Whatever," he muttered, snatching it out of her hand and storming towards the stairs. His bout of impatience was only further aggrandized as a couple came descending down the narrow stairwell, hand in hand and sickening smiles on their face.

"This place is so beautiful, James," the woman gushed, a petite Asian with long black hair.

The man, who personally reminded Draco too much of Harry for his taste, returned her loving smile. "You're beautiful, Vicki," he said softly, and Draco wanted to punch the moony smile off his tan face.

There was a gnawing feeling at the bottom of his stomach as they passed, and for some reason he saw Ginny again, the small, uncertain smile she often had when they were together, the warmth of her eyes, the creaminess of her skin. He shook his head, as if the phyiscal act would banish her from his mind, and continued his way to Pansy's suite 213 with much unhappiness.

Stupid happy married people.

He could hear voices from inside her room, but didn't bother stopping to listen. In all honesty, Draco could care less what Pansy did in her free time, or who. He was here on business, and business he would accomplish.

Sliding the key into the door, he twisted the knob and kicked it open.

There were two people in the room, as he'd expected, but his jaw dropped as he took in their identities.

"What the hell are _you_ doing here?"

End of Chapter 13

A/N

Now where would a good story be without a cliffhanger?

A few answers to the questions posed:

-**A Four Leaf Clover-** I _will_ be writing another HP non one-shot after this. I have, in fact, already started. The next one is entitled _Even Heroes Fall_, and it's a little different from my past two in that its more darkfic than fluff, but is still very much romance and definitely D/G (I'm hopeless, I know). The summary for that is here:

****_In a world of darkness, Ginny Weasley struggles to find her place, to right the wrongs fate has beset upon her, and to avenge those who have fallen with a diligent determination. In a time of chaos, Draco Malfoy stands more omnipotent than ever: merciless, ruthless, and utterly incapable of compassion. Time has broken down what once was and no longer is pure, yet their tale still stands true —a tale of corruption and redemption, of destined love and eternal hate, of trust and betrayal, and above all, of Draco and Ginny._

This is also going to be the first fic I'll post simultaneously on schnoogle and FFNet. I want to have at least 3 chapters written before I post it, so I'd say…look for it around July. Don't worry, I'm posting Masquerade as quickly as I write them, its just that for new fics I like to be a bit ahead when I start posting, especially in the summer when I have more time to write, as I lack time when the school year starts up.

- I just wanted to say thank you so much everyone! I'm overwhelmed (in a good way) but the number of reviews, as I'd never imagined I could ever get so many – they seriously make my day!! I wish I could thank everyone one of you – and I'm going to try right now, but forgive me if I left you out. I really do appreciate every review I get, and yes, I do read every one of them.

**Eleeopy** – lol I'm honored you like my work. =D **Matriaya** – we still have to collaborate, remember! **Ayumi-dono** I can't believe you're still reviewing after all this time! I'd get sick of me lol. You were like…one of my very first reviewers from IS. Sigh. **Artichoke – **Even though you reviewed my other story, I liked your review. So felt like adressing that here. **Silverbuttefly** – it's not supposed to be sad! **Malkavian Kirie Croiff **– see now where would the world be without cliffies?

And….I'd really like to address all of you personally but I think you'd all I just post this chapter so I promise promise promise I'll do it later…please leave a review!


	14. And The Truth Comes Out

Disclaimer: Not mine

A/N Ugh, I do NOT like this chapter, but you guys are going ot have to live. Anyways, there's not much left to this story so I'm kinda excited…it'll be the second real long fic that I've finished in this life =D. And I must say, I could not have gotten HALF as to where I am without my readers (I have 1000 reviews!!!!). When I started fanfiction, I never IMAGINED that people would actually even read my work. I love you all!

Much thanks to **Casey Collins**, **eleoopy**, **priscilla** my ever-wonderful beta, and **Vic Vic J Potter**. This chapter's for you.

Chapter 14. And The Truth Comes Out

"What the hell are you doing here?" Draco asked once more.

Blaise Zabini unfolded himself from the bed, looking genuinely sheepish as he glanced between Draco and Pansy. His blue eyes were clouded with uncertainty and a certain degree of regret – regret, Draco wondered, at being caught?

There was a long silence before anyone spoke. "Draco," Blaise began quietly. "I'm sorry."

"No no," Draco said impatiently, waving him off and directing his silver gaze towards his wife. "Tell me, Pansy, how many charms did you have to use on Zabini here to lure him into your bed?"

Her jaw dropped open in indignance, and Blaise jumped in. "Draco, she didn't use any spells. I'm in love with her."

"You're in love with her?" Draco repeated.

"You're in love with me?" Pansy squeaked at the same time.

"Someone's capable of loving _her_?" Draco said wondorously, while Pansy scowled at him fiercely.

"I'm sorry," Blaise said, casting his eyes towards the ground. "It's low of me to go behind your back, but I was only trying to help, honestly. And then one thing led to another and…" his voice trailed off, and he locked eyes with Pansy again, a small smile curling his lips. "And here we are," he finished firmly. "And I love her."

Silence again; it seemed to be occurring more and more often in Draco's life. "Well," he finally said, brightly. "This means I can get the divorce, right?"

For the first time, Pansy smiled. "Yes," she replied softly, never once taking her eyes off of Blaise.

"I just came from Vanessa Flint's," Draco said suddenly.

"Come off it," Blaise cut him off. "You aren't changing my mind. I don't care if you think I can do better."

"I was just thinking," Draco went on, as if nobody had spoken. "That everything seems to work out for the best, doesn't it? She's happy with Marcus, and you're happy with" –he made a face—"Pansy."

Blaise sent him a questioning glance. "But _does_ everything turn out for the best? Even with…you?"

"Draco, why are you here?" Pansy blurted out, and they both looked at her oddly. "I just mean it's odd that you're here. I wasn't expecting you."

"Actually, Pansy, I decided that I'm madly in love with you and need you to have my children," was his sarcastic reply.

Pansy stared at him with big round eyes.

"Keep dreaming," Draco scoffed. "I want to know why Ginny Weasley masqueraded as you seven years ago at Flint's ball."

Blaise made a choking noise as Pansy paled. "Weasley?" he repeated. "Weasley?"

"Shut it, Zabini," Draco said coolly, and then focused his piercing gaze on his wife once more. "Answer me, Pansy."

"It was Weasley?" Pansy said in a shocked voice. "She had…she had this charm on that blurred her face and I…this all makes sense now…the governess position…the red hair…the…oh Merlin…how did I not piece this together before?"

"Because you're daft," Draco sneered, not missing a beat. "Now I think you owe me an explanation."

"How did you know about the ball?"

"Explanation," he growled once more.

She seemed to be deep in thought, long lashes casting shadows that danced across her face. Both Blaise and Draco watched her with bated breath, one in curiosity and the other in impatience, when finally, she raised that golden head of hers, and spoke in a calm tone. "It was a deal," she told them. "A midnight bargain. We needed an offspring, my parents were expecting one, and you, Draco, you couldn't care less."

"And how does Weasley come into play?" Draco demanded.

Pansy hushed him. "I'm getting to that. My friend, Lillith, the one from Germany you know, well she told me about how in ancient days, if a couple couldn't conceive they would hire another woman…to get pregnant…and then…they would pay a surmountable deal of money for her child."

The look on Draco's face was a cross between horror and realization.

"And so," she continued, "I set out a notice on the black market. There were many people that came, you know, but I had bad vibes from many of them. And then, that afternoon, the one before I went to France, I went to see Madame Halliwell in Diagon Alley—"

"You and your stupid fortune predicting," Draco interjected snidely.

"Yes, well, Madame Halliwell knew about my plight," Pansy defended. "And she predicted that my troubles would end that afternoon, she actually said that good would come to me in shades of red. Red, don't you see?"

"Like her hair," Blaise mused.

Pansy nodded. "Anyways, a woman came to me that afternoon. She wouldn't tell me her name, or why she needed the money. But I knew she must've been the one that Madame Halliwell was speaking of, because of the hair."

"How could you?" Draco seethed. "The Malfoy line, real or not, has to be purebred. What if some trollop like Granger had waltzed in?"

Pansy made an impatient noise in the back of her throat. "Calm down, Draco. I know the stakes as well as you do." He simply crossed his arms and glowered, waiting for her to continue. "I gave her _Veritas Purite_ mixed in a heavy dose of her tea," she explained. "If she wasn't of pure blood – which you and I both know that Weasley is – she would've developed an allergic reaction within seconds."

There was a look of great excitement on Blaise's face. "Well, go on." He urged as she paused.

"Knowing she was a pureblood," Pansy continued, "I knew I could ensure her child to be a pureblood by finding her a mate that was."

"The masquerade ball," Draco said dully.

She nodded. "All Slytherins are pureblooded – at least the ones that run in Flint's social circles are anyway. It was an invite only, and so she went on my invitation."

"Was that not a great risk?" Draco wanted to know. "Think about it Pansy, there were bound to be people there who knew who you were, and they would have known that she was not you."

"Hence the mask," Pansy interjected. "I'm not stupid, Draco. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, it was now or never."

"And if she didn't conceive?" Draco demanded.

"Impossible," Pansy grinned. "Fertilizing charms never fail, you know." They all stood in pensive silence, three people entangled in the oddest of ways, and finally Pansy gave a sigh. "There, Draco, you've had my deepest secret laid out before you. I was never unfaithful to you until Blaise came to Aruba." She paused, looking sad. "For the longest time, I thought that if I loved you just enough, if I loved you long enough, you would…love me back. Time wasted, eh?"

"You—you—" Draco began incredulously. "I can't believe you would—"

"It was…" she shrugged. "Survival of the fittest, I guess. I had to do something, didn't I?"

"But you paid a woman to have our child," Draco spat.

"Not ours—" Pansy started to say.

"The woman was Weasley," Blaise cut her off with wonder on his face. "Imagine, of all coincidences…"

Pansy looked at him with great alarm, a light bulb practically appearing above her head as she pieced together puzzles of her past. "Oh Merlin," she breathed, blinking at Draco. "The woman you slept with at Flint's…this all starting to make sense…"

If Malfoys could blush, Draco would've been turning a pleasant shade of pink. "Yes, coincidence," he spat out.

Pansy's jaw dropped open. "Do you know what this means, Draco?" She and Blaise exchanged stunned glances, blue on blue, before turning back to stare at a very befuddled Draco.

"Enlighten me," he finally growled.

"Draco," Pansy said in an odd-pitched voice, "Sebastian is your son. Your real son."

Draco blinked, seeing Sebastian in his head. The feathery white-blond hair. The aristocratic nose.

"I always thought I was lucky Sebastian had turned out to physically resemble you," Pansy told him. "I thought it luck."

"He's my son?" Draco echoed, his throat dry.

"I hadn't meant for things to turn out this way," Pansy whispered. "I had only meant for us to pretend to have a child, any child, but here we are, and Sebastian…he's really yours."

"Think about this," Blaise cried in amazement. "Of all the people Weasley could've chosen to sleep with at the ball…she chose you. Isn't that something?"

"Something," Draco agreed numbly.

"It's fate at work, don't you see?" Blaise said, spreading his arms. "Draco, Sebastian is _your_ son. And Ginny, she's the mother. You've started a goddamn family with the woman you love, and you didn't even know it. If that's not destiny, I don't know what is."

"You love her?" Pansy asked, looking genuinely surprised. "You're capable of love?"

"I do _not_ love her," Draco said most disagreeably.

"You do too," Blaise countered with a small smile. "As well you should, or poor Sebastian is going to have a very broken family."

Draco glanced between them helplessly. "Father is going to kill me," he finally murmured. "I've gone and knocked up a Weasley."

Pansy smiled, a real, toothy, smile that he had not seen directed towards him until now. "Go," she encouraged softly. "Go home, Draco. I'll draw up the divorce papers by tomorrow."

Home. To Sebastian. To…Ginny?

"Go, Draco."

Without further thought, he disapparated.

* * *

There was a swing behind Malfoy Manor.

It was hidden within a thick swath of willow trees, the wood old and cracked. As a young boy, Draco had spent countless hours on that swing after being berated by his father, hidden away from the world he was destined to live in for the entirety of his life. Here he'd been free to dream, free to think, for a few moments in solitude before Narcissa or one of the house elves called him back.

He sat here now, face grave and solemn as he faced Sebastian, who stared back at him expectantly.

"Sebastian," Draco started, but trailed off as he took in his son's face. _My son_, he thought, feeling an odd swell of pride. _Merlin, he's my son._

"Yes, Father?"

Draco took in a deep breath. "Sebastian, I've something to tell you. It's very important, so you need to listen carefully."

He nodded, amber eyes wide. _Ginny's eyes_.

"Pansy is…" There was no easy way to say it. "Pansy is not your mother, Sebastian." He cringed, waiting for a reaction.

"I know," Sebastian said slowly.

Draco blinked. "You know?"

"I heard her talking," he explained, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. "She said…something about one day having her own son. That means I'm not her son, right?"

_My God this kid is intelligent_. "Yes," Draco said, nodding emphatically. "_Yes_."

"So…who is my mother, then?" Sebastian asked, and Draco wondered if he already knew.

With a bit of hesitation, he patted the boy's shoulder awkwardly. "It's Governess Weasley, Sebastian."

His eyes lit up. "Really?" Sebastian said excitedly. "Miss Weasley?"

"You aren't disappointed?" Draco blurted out. "You aren't going to need therapy?"

"I just as suspected," replied the boy.

"How?"

"Miss Weasley loves me," Sebastian said, and the look on his face told Draco that her love meant the world to him.

_Like Father, like son_.

"Where is Miss Weasley?" He inquired.

"We're going to find her," Draco said firmly, before he could stop himself. "We're going to find her, and she's going to come here."

"Forever?"

He grinned. "Forever."

Now if only Ginny would consent.

* * *

_Ginny, I want you to…_

_ Ginny, I need you to…_

_ Ginny, I need you._

Draco stood outside Ginny's small, worn flat, one hand on the knob and the other around his wand. He could see her face already, the small smile she always wore when she was pleased but tried not to appear so, the sparkle of her warm eyes, the spattering of freckles upon her creamy skin. He took in a sharp breath, resisting the urge to storm in and snog her silly.

Gently, he eased the door open.

"Ginny?" Draco called, and then furrowed his eyebrows as no response came. "Ginny?"

No, the flat was definitely empty.

Frowning deeply, he made his way around the familiar place, picking up teacups and Quidditch books lying around here and there. He traced a finger along the mantle of her fireplace, scowling at the dust that had collected there, and then saw the pictures upon it which were beaming at him, and he stopped.

There it was, plain as day: the picture.

He picked it up slowly, focusing on the one object that had caught his attention the last time – the sparkling necklace dangling from her neck. Slowly, he pulled out a long silver chain from the pocket of his trousers – the place he'd kept it all these years, and dangled it beside the photograph.

It was, without a doubt, the same necklace.

"What are you doing here?" A shrill female voice from behind him cried.

Draco turned sharply to see a pretty young brunette, green eyes wide with surprise as she stared in utter shock. "Excuse me?"

"You don't live here," she said, in softer tones now. "I don't think."

"You don't either," he replied pointedly.

"I'm Ada," she explained. "I'm Miss Weasley's maid."

_She can afford a maid?_ Draco found himself thinking. Though for some reason, Ginny's non-wealth was really not so much a bother anymore. "I see," was all he said, and then went back to scanning the room.

"So what are you doing here?" Ada demanded once more.

"Making a huge sacrifice to my pride," Draco muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

"I'm looking for Gin—Miss Weasley," explained Draco in an exasperated tone. "Do you know when she'll be back?"

Ada shrugged, moving towards the counter with duster in hand. "Not for a while, sir. I mean, she _is_ at a wedding."

Draco frowned. "Wedding?"

Ada turned to him with a startled look upon her face. "Why didn't you hear? It's been the talk of this side of town, you know. The great Harry Potter finally remarries. And of course Miss Weasley would be there—" Ada let out a little laugh "—she really kind of _has_ to be, since she's his—"

"Where's the wedding?" Draco demanded frantically.

"Um," Ada wrinkled her nose. "The Hartcourt Chapel in Diagon Alley, I think." She looked at the tall clock sitting upon Ginny's desk. "But I'd hurry if I were you, I think it started already."

"Fuck," Draco muttered under his breath.

"What?"

"Nothing." Filled with frustration and resentment and helplessness, he stormed out the door.

* * *

10 minutes, and counting.

Ready to scream, or at least attack one of the passersby, Draco glanced around in great anger, clenching and unclenching his jaw repeatedly. "Why can nobody tell me where this damn wedding is," he growled under his breath, pushing through the crowds.

"Hey," he snapped, pulling at a man strolling past him. "Where's Hartcourt Chapel?"

The man glared. "Learn some manners and maybe somebody will tell you."

"Don't even start with me," Draco snarled. "Do you know who I am, Mr.—Mr.—"

"Donelly," the man supplied coolly.

"Right, Donelly," Draco waved him off. "I happen to be Draco fucking Malfoy, owner of Argent Enterprises, and if you don't direct me to Hartcourt right this moment, I swear that—"

"You think I'm afraid of you?" Donelly sneered, and Draco wanted nothing more than to slug him.

Only when a crowd began forming around them, and his hand started to sting did he realize that he actually had.

"Why, you," growled Donelly, and he lunged towards Draco, wrapping his arms around Draco's waist and bringing them both to the ground. He struck Draco with a blow that lacked in force, but both men knew it would ultimately leave a red mark behind. Sharply, Draco brought up his knee, jabbing him just below the chin, and leapt to his feet, ready for more.

Donelly ran towards him once more. This time, he kicked Draco from behind, just above his heel, causing the blond to fall backwards. The crowd gasped, and Draco fumed, doing just the same from his unbecoming position. The two men grappled with one another for a few moments, until it was finally clear that Draco had the upper hand; Draco, in turn, was pinning him to the cold concrete, raising a fist and readying himself to smash it into Donelly's nose.

"Stop!" cried a bystander. "Violence is not the answer."

Draco glared at the man beneath him, his eyes, two silver slits, his hair in disarray and his face clouded with rage. Finally, after a long bated breath, he stood up, brushed himself off, and tried to appear as dignified as possible.

"Where," he spat to the crowd around him. "Is Hartcourt Chapel?"

"Over there," a young woman volunteered. "It's just one block down on your left. You see that pointy thing?"

Draco let out a sigh of relief. "Um, yeah, thanks," he muttered. He glared once more at Donelly, who was gingerly touching his swelling face, and then turned to sprint down the street. By now, he was perspiring with anxiety and the effort of his excursions in such uncomfortable robes (they were luxurious, soft, and expensive of course, but decidedly not ideal for exercising).

From the distance, he could see Hartcourt Chapel, rising into the air with its sharp peaks and roofless court. The grand double doors were slightly ajar, and the booming voice of whoever was marrying Harry to Ginny – his Ginny – could be heard well into the street.

He paused, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the glass windows, the loose strands of white-blond falling across his face and the dirtied robes. _There's still time to back out_, he reminded himself.

No, he had to do this.

_And what if she doesn't want you?_ A small voice in his head chided. _What if she really does want to be Mrs. Harry Potter?_

"If there be any objection, speak now or forever hold your—"

Without thinking, Draco thrust the doors open. "You can't marry him," he declared, storming inside, his focus concentrated on the sprawling white dress that took up much of his periphery. "I won't let you."

There came a collective gasp from within the church. Murmurs flew up immediately, the guests looking bemusedly at one another in shock.

"Malfoy?" cried Harry, looking alarmed.

"That's right," Draco said rather smugly, crossing his arms. "You're not going to win this time, scarhead. She loves me. I know she does. In fact—" He pulled out the sapphire pendant from his pocket and held it aloft triumphantly "—I can prove it."

"I don't even know you!" a female voice declared, and then the mass of white beside Harry turned around.

It was decidedly not Ginny.

_Oh…shit._

=End of Chapter 14=


	15. For Whom the Wedding Bell Tolls

A/N Okay okay I'm sooo sorry this took so long, but first my file kept on getting corrupted ( I managed to salvage it through notepad), and now this is the un-betaed version because my beta's inbox is full haha. Anyways, here it is…the LAST CHAPTER. I know, I know, I cried. But yah, endnotes, thank-yous, and deleted scenes at the end. Read on. And review.

Chapter 15. For Whom the (Wedding) Bell Tolls

The congregation stared at Draco in shock.

"What are you doing here?" said an angry Ron Weasley.

"I have come for my love, your sister," proclaimed Draco.

"She's dead!" wailed Fran. "And now you've interrupted my wedding! This is a no-good very bad wedding day!"

"Dead?" cried Draco.

"Yes," answered Harry. "She killed herself two nights ago, you know, waiting for you to come around."

"You knew about this?" demanded Ron. "You knew she was in cahoots with the big bad Malfoy and you didn't tell me?"

"Sorry," shrugged Harry. Sheepishly.

"I swear if you weren't so sexy and famous," said Ron, shaking his fist. "I'd kill ye with my own bare hands."

"But if you did, we wouldn't have sexy and famous Harry to stare at," murmured Hermione dreamily as she made googly eyes at Harry.

"Unfaithful wench," muttered Ron. "I think I will kill Harry with my own bare hands now."

"Doesn't matter," said Harry, cool as a cold pickle. "Ginny would still be dead, your wife would still have a festering but now necrophiliac attraction for me, and you would be charged for murder."

"No!" wailed Draco. "Ginny really is dead?! Then I shall kill myself too!"

He did.

"How Romeo and Juliet of them," said Hermione sadly.

And the wedding continued.

THE END.

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Okay just kidding here's the real chapter.

Chapter 15. For Whom the (Wedding) Bell Tolls

_Of all the dresses she could've picked. _Ginny frowned at her reflection in the long oval mirror. It wasn't that it was a particularly ugly dress, as Fran had impeccable taste – she had to, being engaged to Harry Potter and all, but my, Ginny had never worn anything more distinctively uncomfortable. Made of light blue silk, the gown hugged her skin, cinched her waistline with some sort of muggle corset, and flew out about her legs in soft layers. In all, she couldn't feel her movements, which simply aggrandized her fear that the dress would split.

"Fran," Ginny called into the adjacent room. "Are you sure this dress can hold me?"

"Gin, you have to be kidding," came a voice from behind her. "You look gorgeous."

She turned around in alarm to see Harry Potter, grinning beatifically at her, Ron at his heels.

"Harry! Ron!" Ginny gasped. "You aren't supposed to—"

"See the bride?" Ron finished. "Well, you're obviously not the bride, right?" Dressed in a tuxedo, coattails and all, he looked every bit as uncomfortable as her as he took a seat directly next to the mirror and smiled toothily at her.

Ginny nodded, and the three of them sat in harmonious silence for a few moments before Ron let out a long sigh. Knowingly, she glanced at Harry.

Harry was the one who spoke. "Spit it out, Ron," he said teasingly, taking a seat beside his friend.

Ron sighed again. "It's just, I'm happy for you and all, but I just don't understand—"

"—why it's not Gin?" Harry finished, meeting her eyes and grinning. "I thought we explained that to you already. We don't love each other. I love Fran, and she loves—"

"Not Harry," Ginny supplied quickly, shooting him a warning glance.

"Don't you feel this is all so soon, though?" Ron frowned. "I mean, one minute, you're engaged to my sister, and the next minute you're getting married to Fran."

"Fran and I have been in love for ages," declared Harry. "What happened between Ginny and I was just experimentation, you see. Nothing serious."

Ron had a skeptical look on his face, but he nodded slowly. "If you're sure, Harry," he finally said dubiously. "I just hope you're making the right decision."

"Ron," Ginny and Harry said simultaneously, and he held up his hands.

"Yeah, yeah." There was a pause, and then he smiled. "It's just, you know, I always thought it'd be cool to have you as a brother-in-law."

"But would you really want the mental images of me shagging your sister?" Harry laughed. _Not that Malfoy would be much of an improvemen_t, he added to himself.

Ron frowned. "Good point." Standing up, he dusted off himself quickly and brushed a quick kiss to Ginny's cheek. "I'll see you outside, then. Come now, Harry."

"Hold on," He called as Ron exited the room. "I need to talk to Gin."

He stopped, surprise evident on his freckled face, but nevertheless nodded and slipped out the door.

"Gin," Harry said as soon as they were alone. "I wanted to thank you."

She furrowed her brow. "For?"

He shrugged. "Being there for me. Understanding about Fran. I—I realize I wasn't always there for you at Hogwarts," he told her ruefully, "And I'm sorry. I just—I'm really glad we're close now, you know? You really are like a sister to me."

She touched his arm, genuinely touched. "Harry," Ginny replied softly, "Don't worry. I—I'm glad you're in my life. And even though you ditched me for Fran—" she took on a teasing lilt now "—I'm glad you're happy."

"Yeah," he smiled. "This whole Fran thing happened rather quickly, didn't it?"

She nodded.

"I just couldn't stand another day not being married to her," Harry said, a dreamy grin spreading across his face. "You know how it is, don't you? Being in love."

Again, she nodded, feeling a pang of sadness stab her.

"Gin?" called Fran from the other room. "Are we starting?"

"Just a sec," Ginny replied. She turned back to Harry, and wrapped her arms around in him a warm hug. "Go on and get married to the love of your life," she whispered.

* * *

"If there be any objection, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Ginny leaned back as much as she could in her seat, a small smile on her face as Fran and Harry gazed at each other with adoration. Once, she thought, she'd gazed at him that way. And once, she'd gazed at Malfoy that way. Fran looked every part the perfect bride, her pale blond hair swept up in an elegant chignon and her cheeks blushed with the natural red of happiness. Harry hadn't taken his eyes off her since she'd entered the chapel, and neither had any of the congregation.

Any moment now, they'd be married, entwined forever in matrimony…

The door burst open. "You can't marry him," a loud, male voice rang out. "I won't let you."

Ginny froze. That voice…it was as if thinking about him had summoned him… She lifted her eyes to see Draco Malfoy storming down the aisle, focused on Fran and looking particularly brassed off. As the church began to murmur and gasp in surprise, she couldn't tear her eyes away from him. Never had she seen him look so undignified, his usually neat hair in disarray about him, and was that a smudge of dirt on his cheek? His clothes were torn, actually torn, and she saw that he had a cut just above his lip. He looked downright terrible, and she had never been so glad to see him in her life.

"Malfoy?" said Harry in shock.

"That's right," Draco answered defiantly, and Ginny still stood limp with disbelief. "You're not going to win this time, scarhead. She loves me. I know she does. In fact—" from his pocket, he removed now a dangling necklace she recognized immediately "—I can prove it."

"I don't even know you!" Fran said then, more surprised than anything, and the look upon Draco's face was of pure, unadulterated astonishment. In that moment, all doubts were eased from Ginny's mind, for she knew he was here for her, and she knew why.

"Draco," she interjected then, and he finally tore his gaze away from the blonde to drink her in, hair curling around her face and blue dress fluttering about her as she made his way towards him.

"Ginny," was all he could say as she stopped before him.

"Draco," she agreed solemnly, though a smile threatened to tug at her lips.

"What the hell?" Ron burst out from his place besides Harry, and if it hadn't been for his best friend he would've lunged towards the tall blonde man staring contentedly at his sister.

"Ginny, I—we—you—" Draco started, but then changed his mind, instead circling her waist with one hand and pulling her close. "Oh shove that," he muttered before dipping his head to hers and suckling at her lips in a fierce, hungry kiss. At the cool touch of his lips, she felt her anger and frustration fading away, the loud world around her melting into oblivion as she curled fingers into the hairs at the nape of his neck and kissed him back ferociously, drinking him in as a man would water in the desert. He felt so familiar and so good she couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life without the unique touch that was Draco Malfoy. I've come home, was the thought that resonated through her mind as she tightened her grip upon him.

"Ginny Weasley, what the hell are you doing?" Ron's voice rang out louder than anyone else's, and finally she pulled away from Draco, turning to see a shocked congregation staring at her. Blinking, she glanced towards Draco, who wore the same glazed expression in his eyes.

"I think we all want some answers," Hermione declared. "Considering your prat of an ex-boss has just interrupted Harry's wedding and, ugh, touched you."

_Not that I mind being touched by him_, thought Ginny ruefully.

"Better prat than mudblood," Draco snarled, and those around Hermione gasped and clutched her arm in shock that he had dared insult her in such a way. Ginny herself winced, knowing that it certainly was not doing anything for his case.

Helplessly she looked towards Harry, who simply shrugged in the same helpless fashion, and then towards Draco once more, who was now glaring at Hermione murderously. "Um," was all she could say.

"And why exactly are you speaking with him?" Molly Weasley wanted to know. "If you're not working for Mr. Malfoy here – Lucius' son, I might add – then how do you know him?"

_I love him?_ That wouldn't exactly blow over very well.

"She's possessed!" cried Janie, Bill's seven-year-old daughter, and Ginny found herself smiling.

Ron was not. "Well?" He demanded angrily. "You better have a good excuse for why he's here."

"I don't owe you any excuses," Draco said snidely, with as much pride as a man who had just interrupted his worst enemy's wedding dressed in tattered clothes could muster.

"And saying that I love him," added Fran.

"And snogging Ginny," sniffed Hermione, turning to the redheaded girl. "And you, Ginny, owe us an excuse for letting yourself be snogged."

All three of them fell silent then, the realization of what they had just said finally sinking in. In horror, Ron gaped at his sister, mouth opening and closing rapidly. "Tell me it's not true, Gin," he said disbelievingly. "You haven't been…you and Mal—if this sod put some spell on you I swear—"

_Oh Ron, stop talking_, Ginny found herself thinking as the guests flew into heated whispers once more. With the sole purpose of stopping his tirade, Ginny blurted out the first thing that came to her mind. "I'm his wife."

_Bad idea, Ginny.__ Bad, bad, idea._

At least the whispers had stopped.

"His what?" Arthur Weasley's voice was barely audible, but equally full of anger.

"My what?" Draco said at the same time.

_ Just go along with it, Draco._ She took a deep breath, grimacing as her mind spun furiously and trying desparately to send Draco signals with her mind. "Um, Mum, Dad, I would've told you except…you loathe the Malfoys like any normal wizarding family." At least that part was true.

Draco looked sour.

"You can't be serious!" Ron thundered, waving his arms wildly. "You don't even know him. You don't want to know him."

"Well deal with it," Draco said suddenly, voice icy cold. "Not only does she want to know me, she's gotten to know me. And physically, too." He smirked at the audience, and Ginny cringed. "Redheads do live up to their feisty reputations."

_You are not making this any easier_, Draco.

Molly squeezed her eyes shut in horror at the implications of his words, and all the Weasleys clenched their fists. "Somebody wake me up," Ron pleaded. "This has to be a nightmare."

"When?" Hermione finally asked, breaking the heavy silence. "When did this happen?"

"Seven years ago," Draco spoke now, keeping his eyes on Ginny.

"Seven years!" cried Ron. "But the thing with Harry—"

"Experimentation," Harry said quickly, the first he'd said all throughout the event. He grinned at Ginny, and she felt a wave of relief that at least one person in this chapel, Draco nonwithstanding, was on her side.

"We were separated," Ginny added, wishing she could stop the gigantic lie of a life she'd created for herself. "Draco and I."

"So now it's Draco," muttered Ron. "Any other shocking secrets, dearest sister?"

"Well, um," Ginny paused, scrutinizing Draco closely. Seven years…so he knows, but how much does he know? "There's also one more thing."

"More?" cried Bill. "What is this now? Don't tell me—you two have a house. No, a daughter."

"A son, actually," said Draco coolly, and Ginny nearly fainted with the shock that rippled across the chapel. So he does know! How the hell…? "Sebastian, as you might remember," he nodded to Harry. "He's seven now."

Percy stood up now, in great indignation. "Don't tell me that's why you two were married," he shook her finger at his sister. "Don't tell me it's because he got you pregnant."

"I thought you were in France!" said Fred, standing up beside her before any of them had a chance to answer. "That entire year—you were pregnant?"

"And the money, was it Malfoy filth?" demanded Ron, eyes flashing. The anger which had overtaken the Weasleys was suddenly diffused with disbelief.

"No," cried Ginny. "I earned that money, really. I…I was working in France, and that's how Draco and I er, met."

"And shagged, apparently," Ron growled darkly.

"Ronald," said Molly sharply, stunning them all. She stepped closer to Ginny and Draco, who glanced at her uncertainly. For a moment of tension-filled silence she simply stared at them, observed them. And then, after what felt like an eternity, gave a reluctant sigh. "I suppose I can handle this," she finally said.

"You aren't serious!" Ron cried.

"Mum!" protested Bill and Percy.

She held up a hand, silencing them. As for Arthur Weasley, he was standing immobilized in utter shock as he had been for nearly ten minutes now. "You're my only daughter," she went on, voice softening now. "I can't say I approve of—" she winced "—Malfoy, but seeing as you are a married woman, and, Merlin, a mother, I would rather gain a grandson than lose a daughter. I just—I don't see how you could've hidden this from all of us for so long. And I wish you didn't have to. Really."

"That's it?" Ron was turning purple. "That's it?"

Molly turned around, the smile upon her face identical to that of her daughter's. "I think," she said, lifting up her chin and taking her seat, "that we have a wedding to complete, don't we?"

"Oh Fran," Ginny buried her face in her hands. "I've gone and ruined your wedding, I'm so sorry, I—"

"And you've gone and ruined your life!" Ron added indignantly.

"Oh shut it," Harry said, earning numerous shocked looks as he smiled at his bride. Taking her hand, they turned towards Ginny and Draco – well, rather, Ginny, as Harry was not so much keen on addressing Draco civilly.

"Well, go on," Fran urged with a grin. "Get out so we can get married."

"I—" Ginny started.

"You heard the woman," a low voice came in her ear, and a tremor ran through her at the familiarity of Draco's teasing lilt. And then his hand had grasped hers, and before she could do or say anything, they had disapparated.

* * *

When they arrived at Malfoy Manor, Ginny and Draco suddenly found themselves most alone, and most unsure of how to proceed from the day's unusual events. For a moment they stood in stock silence, both staring intently at the floor and sneaking glances at the other, and then came the unfortunate moment when they snuck glances at the same moment.

Draco shifted.

"My dress is killing me," Ginny offered by way of small talk.

"You look stunning," he said without much emotion, and she would've snorted in laughter had she not caught the look of absolute seriousness in his mercury eyes.

"You kept the necklace," she blurted out, because she was tired of their inane ways of avoiding the truth, and desparate for answers.

He nodded, but said no more.

"I didn't think you would," she went on, rambling really. "I mean, I hoped but you know, who wouldn't and—well, I'm just surprised."

A glimmer of amusement curled his lips, just so. "Surprised that I have a heart?" He said, the smirk of the Draco she once knew so well returning.

She grinned at him now, realizing for once how much she'd missed their easy banter. "Who said you have a heart?"

The expression on his face grew grave once more. "I do," he said quietly. "And my heart—I mean, I—well, I—"

Ginny felt her own heart racing. "You?" she prodded.

"I was wondering if you wanted some tea," he finally said, and she felt the hope which had bubbled inside of her deflate.

"No, thank you," she shook her head. "I'd rather…talk. There's a lot of questions you and I both have, I'm sure."

He nodded again. "Talk, then."

There was only a brief moment of silence. "How'd you know?"

"Pansy," he answered easily.

_That explained it._

"Well, how did she know—I mean, I didn't know she knew all of it," Ginny stammered.

"She didn't," Draco replied. "But between what she and I knew, we were able to piece together the facts." He paused. "With the help of Blaise Zabini, of course."

Ginny groaned.

"How much did she pay you?" Draco wondered. "And what would make you accept such a preposterous proposal?"

"Well," Ginny began slightly uncertainly. "My father was sick, direly ill. He needed money for this operation, but you see we've—well, we've never been the richest family in the world, and the sum required was beyond the means of any normal family, even with six working children. 50 million galleons, that's quite an affable amount. And at the time I heard of Pansy's proposal, I was on this new, obscure job for the ministry – top secret – in France, where I wasn't at all allowed to see my family, so I knew how easy it would be to, you know, complete the required deed. How easy it would be to go into hiding and conceive the child while pretending to be on the job."

"Cunning," Draco smirked. "You wouldn't expect that of a Gryffindor."

Unsure of whether or not he had complimented her, Ginny went on. "And then, at the ball, there was you. As much as I'd loathed you at school, there was something about you – I'm still not sure what – but I just…I lost a little part of myself to you that night." She blushed at her own confession. "I never meant to choose you, you know," she added. "What happened was pure coincedence, and I still can't explain the odd turn of events. I just—I used to think, sometimes, that it was fate, you know? Destiny's master plan."

"Funny," mused Draco, more to himself than her. "That's exactly what Blaise said."

"Anyways," she continued, "I didn't realize how hard it would be to give up my own child until a month before Sebastian was born. The ministry had sacked me for not fulfilling my duties – which, obviously was impossible to do. And knowing that Pansy had no idea who I really was, that's why I took up the job as governess. To be close to him."

"He knows, Ginny," Draco said, and her eyes lit up.

"I suspected as much," she said, excitement filling her voice now. "Or at least hoped for it. He's such a smart boy, I—"

"So you weren't engaged to Harry Potter," he said suddenly, before she had a chance to say anything else.

She hesitated, surprised by the hint of desparation in his voice. Desparation to know the truth or desparation for something else? "Well, I was. But it's not what you think—it's complicated really."

His eyes hardened. "Explain."

"Um—" she twisted her hands together. How?

Seeing her flustered expression, he asked in a gentler tone, "Did you love him?"

Ginny shook her head vehemently. "No. I wasn't lying, you know, when I told you I…that you were the only…"

"Ginny," Draco said in that same pensive voice that could indicate both a positive and negative turn of events. She met his gaze. "Maybe we should just stop asking questions."

She relaxed visibly at his words. "Maybe," she agreed.

Draco cleared his throat, moving closer to her. "You know," he said after a few uncertain seconds. "I've obtained the divorce."

"Oh?" was all she could bring herself to say.

"Yep," he confirmed. "And you know…technically, your family thinks we are married."

"Oh?" she was squeaking now.

"And Sebastian _is_ our son," he continued.

A heat bloomed in the center of Ginny's chest, and she felt it was suddenly hard to breathe. Even as he continued to advance towards her, she felt a silly, pleased grin curling her lips.

"And a young child like him should have a proper family."

"That's true," she said, regaining her power of speech.

"A proper family with a mother, and a father that are also husband and wife," he said, keeping his voice perfectly neutral despite that his eyes were scanning hers with an intensity that she could barely stand.

"Why, Draco Malfoy," Ginny interrupted softly. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

He averted his eyes then, but she could tell from the involuntary clenching of his fingers that he was nervous. Draco Malfoy, nervous! She thought wondorously. So he does have that emotion. "No," he said abruptly, and then immediately hesitated. "Well, not no, just not yes. Not that—it's not—I was just thinking—"

Gently, Ginny pressed her index finger to his lips. "Shut up," she commanded in a quiet whisper, and then replaced her finger with her own lips. With her other arm she looped him closer to her, and his body relaxed against hers, strong arms coming to support her as he deepened the kiss, finally letting all guards down and surrendering to her. One of his hands ran through her hair and stroked her cheek with knee-melting tenderness, and the other trailed down her left arm until she felt a slightly cold metal pressing into her hand.

She pulled back in surprise to see a delicate silver ring glimmering from her palm. A familiar silver serpent was coiled around a sizeable diamond, flanked with two smaller gems. "The cufflink," Ginny said in awe, stroking the beautiful jewelry. "You transfigured it?"

"In memory of things that changed my life for the better," he said shortly, eyes hooded as he looked down at her. His face remained impassive but there was a flicker of vulnerabililty. "In memory of things I don't want to lose. In memory of things I hope…won't have be to be merely memories any longer."

"Oh, Draco." His name came out as a sigh.

She took a step closer to him, wanting to feel the warmth of his body, the scent of his masculinity. Well aware of his penetrating gaze, she slipped the ring onto her fourth finger and held it up close to his face, as if analyzing both the giver and the gift at the same moment.

He seemed to be in deep contemplation as she did this, his stare never leaving the infinitely delighted smile on her face, the smile of a woman well loved. "Well," he finally said, his voice low and slightly hesitant. "Is that a yes?"

Instead of answering, her smile simply grew wider. Bringing her hand around to the back of his neck, she brought his head closer in one swift movement, darting her tongue out towards his lips before plunging it inside, moaning softly as he suckled at her lower lip in return. "Wait," Draco said gruffly, pulling away with startling abruptness. He eyed her with a mixture of suspicion and hope which caused butterflies to flutter all down her throat. "All these years…all this time…it's all been one big masquerade ball for me, for us. I don't want anymore games, Gin."

"No more games," she agreed seriously, still smiling. Once more, she directed her gaze to the sparkling ring upon her finger.

With surprising gentleness he took her left hand in his, pulling the ring out of view as he intertwined their fingers. The move forced her to look up, and when she did so he rubbed his nose against hers. She giggled at the gesture, tilting her head so their lips were perfectly aligned for yet another kiss. "You've yet to answer me," Draco whispered against her mouth. "Is that a yes?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

=FIN=

A/N 

Well, that's it, it's over!! This story has taken me nearly a year to write, and I've finally, finally finished. I'm relieved that its done, because I always start to lose steam after a while, and at the same time sad, because, well, I can never return to the world of Sebastian Malfoy anymore. And he was a fun kid, wasn't he? I'm always sad at the end of the story, whether I'm writing it or reading it, because every story creates a perfect little fictional world, and ending the story means is like leaving the world permanently. No going back. No finding out what happened. Sigh. And now I must do that to all you loyal readers.

**I. NEWS**

I'll try to answer as many questions as I imagine you have at the moment, but I'm not much of a mindreader so if I leave anything out, feel free to IM/Livejournal/email me.

1. Presently: There will _not_ be a long-sequence sequel. I realize not everything is entirely wrapped up nicely, but I _do_ have a sort of one-shot sequel planned (called **Ex Post Facto**, I think). I don't think there's much left to go with Masquerade unless a war breaks out or whatnot, which would be its own story. And its so much more fun to write Draco and Ginny in their early romantic phases, wouldn't you agree?

2. In the future: I will continue writing D/G. Which is in a way bad, because D/G takes up so much time and energy and yet I can't seem to stop…I've started posting my third long-sequence fic up on FFNet and Schnoogle already – it's **Even Heroes Fall**, which, I know, is dark-themed, but will hopefully be better than this one. At least I like it better. I know some of my readers won't forgive me for killing off Ron, but that was a necessary evil, you see. I just felt like doing something more serious.

3. In the far future: I have several first chapters of random D/G fics lying around which I'll complete after EHF – I just like posting one story at a time, though I'm still working on my assorted fics now and then. So far, I have one chapter completed of **Slytherin Season**, **Peripheral Vision**, and **Crime and Punishment**, two of **Unexpected**, and one of **The One Who Knew**, which isn't D/G. I've also got half-finished one-shots lying around that I hope won't have to go to waste, so expect to see those punctuating the period between updates of EHF.

**II. NOTES**

Firstly, some random facts about this story and how it came to be, just some FYIs.

Sebastian Aurelius Malfoy was just a second away from being Julius Augustus Malfoy. What changed my mind was the consideration that he'd be called Julie. I chose his name knowing I wanted the an ancient Roman name in there somewhere, as Draco was actually the name of an ancient Roman politician (hence the derivation of the word Draconian), so I figured what with Lucius and all they'd want a name similar to that. Thus, I went on this site with the etymologies of words and found words that would mean something to the Malfoys. For instance, Augustus means great. And Aurelius memans something to do with gold and wealth, I think (Think Au on the periodic table). I don't quite remember. And I believe Sebastian also had some meaning, though I could be wrong because I remember liking the name Sebastian from Cruel Intentions. Ryan Phillippe. Heehee.

Boy! Blaise was simply a conveniance issue. Though I did use Blaise as female in my first fic, Rowling has now conceded that Blaise is, indeed, a boy. So I guess that one was right. I, for one, have always thought of Blaise as good-looking, whether male or female.

The title, though not highly original, came from **The Phantom of the Opera**: the broadway soundtrack. There's a song in there called Masquerade. Track number 10 or 11, don't quite remember.

I was originally going to endorse some sort of Sebastian/Evie shipping at the end of this fic, in some kind of epilogue, because I figured that would piss Draco off mightily (and pissy!Draco oft equals sexy!Draco), but I changed my mind. Well, rather, I just never wrote an epilogue.

Music I listened to for inspiration during writers' block: 1) Mozart's Requiem (the entire CD) for the first two or three chapters. 2) Black Eyed Peas – Where Is the Love, as always that remains my D/G constant. 3) Dashboard Confessional – Hands Down, which is also a D/G song for me after Lil2's amazing story **In Which Ginny's Clumsiness Finally Pays Off**. 4) the soundtrack to _Notre Dame de Paris_, which is actually a French musical production of _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_.

Secondly, acknowledgements. I could not have possibly gotten this far without the wonderful support of my readers. Though I wish I could say I write purely for the pleasure of writing, your reviews have been great inspiration and motivation for me, and I can't stress how grateful I am that people out there actually read my work! Anyways, thank you to everyone who reviewed, especially (in no particular order)

**Angel of doom, zelphire, nmffnurse, flurrywurry, Kyrissaean, Fallen Down, Wunna's Realm, AraelMoonchild, Drowning in Misery, animezebra, Princess Sarah, Lielabell, DreamingofDragons, Kaodorite, pawzzz, rainlvr13, Blue Tiki, Raylee, Cjean, Killtheposeurs, LettersToViolet, Little ButterFly, FickleFickleMuse, ALE01, SilvinArrow, Daisie, cynthetic, Erised, Evalahn, FieryAndForbidden, Mistigris, Marie14, FyreFaerieGinny, Lorraine7, NocheSkye, Brattychick1771, infallibleamour, crazy eyes, shock-a-lot, MrsSpongeBob333, SexySlytherinChick, FallenAngelOfInnocence, animalcrackers, copperstring, silvereyez16, lost enchanter, quill-angel68, Minx Raine, Pegasus7, Starryn1ght, Eve Granger, AphroditeMalfoy, Virgin Sacrifice, Rockelle, YvettE Sorrow, Lilikins, Ariel Malfoy, windblader, Toki Inori, Flaky-Flores, faer, starstrucked, ginveraXmalfoy, Spirit of the Wolf, Artemis of the Ice, choco88, Freshie Wolf, HeatherWeasley-lover, rising-angel, Ryu's Wyvern, rutupatel, Megaparsec, NeoGal, Starrynight12312, MzTomFelton, Grumpy1, Madison27, budgie58, Aya8, Ellylon, Happy Frown, lemonskittle, ek298, Matriaya, apple-eyes, butterfly kisses3, Lade Jade86, nirvana, sleepy3, loves-kiss, Yammas, betrayer of hope, dru sharpeye, artichoke, applecede, koolgal101, bride of malfoy, rubookmark, seba, Parvati Felton, astralytic, bobbynotme, hart-break, HappyGoLucki616, Queen Alexandra, psycho lady, wingedcinner, crystangel03, Gianfar, Aelys, Darling Rag Doll, Ginny 234448, Queen Smuffles, Jama Gurlie, Amy the hyper caffeine addict, Caremelissa, baby, bandana gurl, Cathy1227, Chicken Soop, Phoenix-Star-08, Menthe, Alexiswright, SpellboundWriter, goodshiplollypop, Mir-Kitty, imabanana, Mo the Deatheater, Sweetindiagrl26, Yazethet, Katie01, Kawaii Tropical Oasis, broken echo, morganrules13, JenDraca, burgosdamasco, Lanna/Jon4Eva, Jeni Draco's Girl, MyOnlyCat, HermioneCloneForever, Starry Wolf, Christopher6, coincidence casualty, Sindergirl, Lttl Tranquility, cruciatus, DragonsMistress, Shyla, Aneira, ConCon, the-archeress, animefan2005, dragin, Eulene, dani-chan3, Draco Is My Peanut, chalise, Risk, Akarusa30991, moneeca, Mystic Azure Girl, Spinn, Ophelias dream, Restless-soul63, Dracomio, LovingPirates, Daphne-Enchanted, skygazing, bedazzled2080, Sinfonia, lilblondeiy214, Shameful, edward.marie, Nuttyscribbler, junkie323, Lady L Malfoy, Tom4ever, Georgentosser, CrystalSparks, Serpents Hopes, Atomic-Twilight, animefanatic07, d4rk-mrld-dr4, Sasami Tombo, silverbutterfly, telpe nar roccar, unwanted red roses, SomethingsWicked, rukki, ephemere, psycho-child-101, charles weatherby, lilquji, crmeina, yueEr, keika bee, distantorigin, hadhafang, pulchritude Xx, Fire331, SweetestBliss, Americasweetie, Dweeb, beautiful-exterior, Scared White Boy, dracoscutie, faith-2000, angelfire33, Aurienna, Silent Echoes, aLottaFagina, milklshake2612, JsaintG7, Beauty Amongs The Chaos, ginnymalfoy19862, Aloma, dark-phoenix17, dude-monkey, Vincelia Valentine, reflection, Adalheidis**

Whoa that was a lot.

And special thanks to (in alpha order)

**Ayumi-dono**, who has stuck by me through every fic I've ever written, starting at IS, and who has continued to review every chapter without fail, whether bad or good.

**Casey Collins**, who is fun to talk about Harry Potter with, and who made a set of lovely rubber ducky icons for my LiveJournal, and who has also done wonderful fan art.

**Eleoopy**, who made me glad I wrote this fic.

**Gill**, whose reviews humored me to no end

**Jenni Lucky**, who is just cool, and who also as her own awesome fic you guys should read.

**Priscilla**, my wonderful, speedy, and intelligent Beta who faithfully edited every chapter of this story in short amounts of time, and who I wish an awesome time at college.

**Robin**, who was lured into the dark world of D/G and was thus companionable for D/G talk during APCS. And who, btw, made a cameo with her BOYFRIEND back in Chapter 13. Yes, Robin, you know you want him.

**Vic Vic J Potter**, my editor, muse, motivator, shameless fellow HP obsessor, co-captainer, and friend all wrapped up in one.

Again, I couldn't have done this without all of you! I hope that you'll stick with EHF now that Sebastian has faded (::sigh::). MUAH!

**III. ALTERNATE SEQUENCES**

And now, as I always do, closing drabbles. These were written originally as part of the fic, but were cut out for who-knows-why. And as I'm never really going to do a sequel of sorts, I thought I'd might as well post it here.

Drabble I 

_This would've gone somewhere around Chapter 8, I think. Am not sure anymore._

"It's just, it's just that I love you, you big fool," she sobbed, and it all tumbled out. "I can't, I shouldn't, but I do."

His eyes were the darkest mercury she had ever seen them.

"And I don't know why I'm telling you this either, because I can't possibly expect that you could ever—"

"Shut up," Draco ordered. He tilted her chin with one slender finger roughly, studying her watery eyes for a long, infinite moment. Her lips parted as he traced his thumb over her lower lip with excurciating tenderness. "Ginny," he said in a low, hoarse voice. "Do you really love me?"

"Yes," she answered, tears welling in her eyes.

"I want the truth," He said gruffly, disbelievingly, and shook her slightly.

"It is the truth," she whispered, and the stream of tears spilled out, wetting her cheeks. "I love you, Draco, I love you so much."

And then he bent his head to hers, and kissed her like he didn't give a damn.

Drabble II 

_This would've gone after this chapter. So it's pretty much the snippet of epilogue that I managed to complete._

The noise at 9 ¾ was incessant, but not unbearably so.

"Watch where you're going," He sneered.

She looked up, wide brown eyes surprised. "Oh," she said softly, lips parting as she took in his face. "I'm sorry."

He felt almost mean then, and in a moment of what he would later deem insanity, Sebastian reached for her bag. "Here," he said gruffly. "You probably can't carry it anyways."

She hid a smile, but studied him carefully. "You look familiar," she observed in a lightly accented voice.

He turned to her, startled. "Do I?"

She nodded.

"Well I've never seen you before," Sebastian shrugged, and they started making their way off the train.

"Oh I went to Beaubaxtons," she answered lightly. "My father sent me to see Dumbledore about transferring to Hogwarts, and I thought it would be fun to take the train home."

"Your father lives in England?"

She nodded again, and offered a shy smile. There was a moment of hesitation before she asked, "Is your name Malfoy by any chance?"

Despite a vain attempt to hide his surprise, Sebastian jumped a little. "How did you know?" He asked, slightly wary.

She shrugged. "Just a hunch."

"Sebastian!" A voice called out, one which belonged to his mother.

Draco and Ginny Malfoy were weaving their way through the crowd, Ginny rushing excitedly while her husband strode with nonchalant ease. "Goodness, Sebastian," she said when they had reached his side. "What took you so long?"

Sebastian glanced at his mother, looking slightly angry and slightly happy all in the same moment, and shot a pleading glance at his father. "But it's only been a few minutes, Mum."

"A few minutes," Ginny countered. "But yet Evan got here before you."

"That I did," his younger brother Evan popped up from behind them, silver eyes twinkling and a broad grin upon his face.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes. "You little—"

"Sebastan!" Ginny said sharply. "You will not speak to your siblings in such a—"

"Oh come off it," Draco interjected, encircling his wife protectively. "It's Sebastian's seventh year, Gin. We can allow him to be late." He pressed a small, but indeterminably well-placed kiss at the tip of her ear, and she all but melted, glancing up at him with warm brown eyes.

"You're too kind to them, Draco," Ginny replied in a soft voice which plainly suggested that the subject was forgotten.

"_Mum_," Sebastian complained loudly.

"I think it's cute," said the brunette beside him, and he flashed her a quick smile.

Ginny seemed to notice her for the first time. "I don't believe I've met you. Are you a friend of Sebastian's?"

"There you are!" A loud voice cried before she could respond. Ginny glanced up, startled to see a beaming man rushing towards them, a man who was very familiar. . .

"Potter?" Draco said incredulously. "I thought you moved to France."

Harry glared at Draco. "Obviously I did. And now I'm back."

"Oh Harry," Ginny beamed, throwing her arms around him. "It's so good to see you again."

Draco scowled.

"What are you doing here, anyways?" He said, folding his arms.

Harry pushed up his glasses. "Picking up my daughter, Malfoy."

"Evie!" came a familiar female voice, one that belonged to the pretty blond running their way.

"Hello, Fran," Evie grinned.

"Well well," Draco muttered under his breath. "Look at what a quaint little reunion we have here."

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THAT'S ALL!!

Love you all, and thank you for reading!


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